Rogue Leader: A Star Wars Story - A Prequel to Rogue One
by zutty69
Summary: Years before the events of Rogue One, Senator Mon Mothma becomes embroiled in a dangerous plot as she and Bail Organa prepare to launch their Rebellion against the new Empire. An action-adventure starring Mon Mothma herself!
1. One

"Senator Mothma?"

With a start Mon Mothma looked up from the datapad she'd been reading. Some report on the latest trade route dispute, or so she thought: she'd read the thing three times and still couldn't quite make sense of the details. For a moment she wished she were back home, on Chandrila, chasing the planet's famous blackback birds with her father among the Crystal Canyons. But no. She was aboard her personal starship, the _Chandrila Hope,_ on a return trip to Coruscant, bent over the work-desk she kept in her private cabin. A single desk-lamp illuminated the room, while an assortment of datacards and other official materials were strewn about her.

"Madam?" the gold-plated droid repeated from where he stood in the cabin's open doorway. D6-L5, better known by the designation Deesix, and Mon Mothma's personal protocol droid. It had been hers ever since her father first purchased it, years before she'd even considered joining the Imperial Senate. Even the length of a decade had not quite spared her the small annoyance she could sometimes feel at Deesix's needlessly prissy mannerism. "Pardon the intrusion," he went on, "but I have a message from Captain Drayson. We will be arriving at Coruscant in five minutes. Four minutes," he amended, tilting his head.

"Thank you, Deesix," Mon Mothma said, setting down the datapad. "Please tell the captain I'll be up there shortly."

The droid stared at her for a moment longer, peering at her with those blank, saucer-like eyes. Then, with another tilt, "Yes, Madam," the droid responded, before removing himself from the doorway and permitting the door to close behind him.

Mon Mothma sighed in the near-darkness. She still remembered the pride, the excitement she'd felt years ago on that first trip, her maiden voyage to Coruscant. She'd been a newly-elected Senator then, the youngest in the history of the Republic: no small feat for an otherwise unexceptional girl of nineteen. She'd felt invigorated, exhilarated even, at the prospect of her first look of the capital. But that had been before the Clone Wars…before the Empire. Now all she could think of was the great burden that lay ahead of her.

With another sigh she pulled herself together and pushed away from the desk. Most of the datacards had been standard bureaucratic stuff like the trade route dispute: communiqués concerning appropriations bills and taxation amendments and the like. But a handful contained more disturbing messages. Mon Mothma fingered one of them: a report of a protest at a SoroSuub factory on Sullust, and another mentioning demonstrations outside the Imperial governor's mansion on Mantooine. And these were just the most recent. None of them had turned violent yet, thank the Force, but Mon Mothma knew it was only a matter of time.

"But what is to be done about it?" she asked, aloud and to herself. The Emperor had shown little concern about the issue so far, despite continuous complaints from both Mon Mothma and other members of the Imperial Senate. It seemed unlikely he would attempt any further resolution, not unless and until things escalated. Which was the exact scenario Mon Mothma wanted to avoid.

With one final sigh she stood up at last, straightening her clothes as she did so. Mon Mothma had never been much into fashion, even as a young girl, and wore only plain, loose-fitting robes cut from a well-spun weave local to Chandrila. A pair of braids hanging from the shoulders was their only decoration, along with the small medallion that hung about her neck. She took one last sip from the cup of tea sitting on her desk (a Dagoban bentaxne berry mix that Deesix seemed particularly fond of) before heading for the bridge.

The low hum of the hyperdrive engine was the only sound that greeted her as Mon Mothma made her way down the short corridor that connected the sleeping cabins with the _Hope_ 's cockpit area. Some senators she knew preferred larger, more luxurious transportation when they traveled, all the better to accommodate their sizeable retinues: Bail Organa's _Tantive IV_ immediately came to mind. But Mon Mothma had always preferred a more agile ship. Hence the _Chandrila Hope_ : a nimble little craft only slightly larger than the chrome-plated Nubian yachts she constantly saw flitting across the galaxy. In the Chandrilan pacifist tradition the _Hope_ sported no offensive weaponry, but it did have a state-of-the-art deflector shield and a hyperdrive that could break point five.

The door to the cockpit was already open as she stepped up to it. "Captain Drayson," Mon Mothma greeted the only visible occupant, sliding in and taking the empty co-pilot's chair. She peeked out the canopy at the rolling swirls of hyperspace zipping past outside. "How much longer until we reach Coruscant?"

From where he was seated in the pilot's station beside her, Drayson looked over at one of his screens. "We'll be breaking out in less than a minute, Senator," he told her, returning his focus to the flight controls. He risked a moment to glance at her out of the corner of his eye. "Pardon me for asking, but…is everything all right? You look tired."

"That is because I _am_ tired," she said, slumping back in her seat. "I thought the purpose of a holiday was to rest. And yet here I am, more exhausted now than when we left Coruscant."

Drayson shrugged. "I think everyone's been feeling a little tired lately," he allowed.

"Even you?" Mon Mothma smiled at him.

It wasn't an idle compliment. Drayson had come up through the ranks of the Chandrilan Defense Fleet, and was one of the hardest workers Mon Mothma knew. It was during his stint with the fleet that Drayson had met Mon Mothma's father, himself an arbiter-general for the Republic. Drayson had been a faithful friend to the family ever since, both to Mon Mothma herself during her current tenure in the Senate and to her father before that.

But the man only shrugged again. "Even me," he admitted. "The truth is, I don't think the break was a complete waste. Your father was glad to see you, at least, even if it was only for a short time." He was saved from further comment by a ping coming from the nav board. "We're almost ready," he told her, putting a hand up on the levers that controlled the hyperdrive. "In three…two…"

The rolling swirls outside transformed suddenly into star-lines as he pulled the levers back, and with the slightest lurch the _Hope_ came out of hyperspace. Directly ahead of them, square in the canopy's center, sat the bright big jewel that was Coruscant. From space it didn't look that much different from the dozens of other planets Mon Mothma had visited in her short years, not at first glance. Scattered white cloud-cover masked the browns and blues of the planet's surface; on the main continent, large concentric circles of light spotted the landscape, the only indicator at this distance of the massive cities that awaited on the planet below.

But Coruscant was not just any other planet. It was the Imperial capital, and the skies above it were practically jammed with spacecraft in the various stages of coming and going: everything from small stock light freighters all the way to Corellian Corvettes and up. Above them all hung a far-too-familiar shape: the arrowhead silhouette of one of the Emperor's prized Star Destroyers.

Drayson pointed at it. "That looks like the new model," he observed. "One of my classmates from the academy showed me the schematics. It's almost twenty percent larger than the older units; a lot more firepower, too. I hear the Emperor's ordered hundreds of the things into production."

"You almost sound impressed, Captain," Mon Mothma noted, trying hard to keep any judgment from passing into her voice. The Chandrilans were a largely peaceful people who abhorred violence: but Drayson _was_ a fleet man, and no doubt had a professional interest.

Drayson frowned thoughtfully. "Impressed? I wouldn't say that, exactly," he told her, "but you can't deny it's an extraordinary accomplishment of engineering. Even if I don't agree with what they're being used for." One of the lights on his board started flashing. "Looks like we're being hailed by Coruscant Traffic Control," he said, turning over his shoulder. "Deesix?"

"At once, Captain," the droid answered from where he'd been sitting mutely at the communications station. Mon Mothma gave a little start: she hadn't even noticed him there, not that whole time.

While Deesix gave Traffic Control their identification and destination Drayson moved them into position in the long line of in-bound traffic. More stock light freighters and some larger transports, along with a handful of space yachts even shinier than the _Hope_. And sweeping among them… "Those are new," she observed.

"What is it?" Drayson asked, squinting out the canopy.

"Those," Mon Mothma indicated. Drayson followed where she pointed, and finally spied the pair of small, H-shaped fighters that were darting back and forth among the flow of traffic. "TIE fighters," he growled. "What are they doing?"

"It looks like a patrol," Mon Mothma suggested. "Inspection duty?"

"I think you're right," Drayson agreed, studying them more closely, "they're skimming near enough to run a full scan on most of those ships."

"I didn't know the military had TIEs checking ships coming into the capital."

Drayson coughed. "They don't. Or at least, they didn't. There must have been a change in policy."

He was interrupted by the sound of Deesix speaking into the comm's headset. "Acknowledged, Traffic Control," the droid confirmed. He leaned forward toward Drayson's ear. "Captain, we have been cleared for Landing Platform 1-714. Traffic Control says Lynia will meet us there."

"Lynia!" Mon Mothma exclaimed, delighted.

"Maybe she'll know what's going on," Drayson said, getting a grip on the flight controls. "Here we go."

He steered them out of the inbound lane and started down to the planet below. Usually the Coruscant skies were bright and almost cloudless, with only scatterings of white. Yet today must have been a particularly foggy one, for the canopy was soon completely enveloped; Drayson was flying entirely by instruments. When they finally broke through the top layer, emerging from the clouds like a ghost, all they could see were the very tops of the highest skyscrapers, reaching up out of the mist like little islands. "There's the platform," Drayson identified it, floating among the buildings not far away. "I'm taking us in."

Even with the poor visibility, Drayson was able to set them down with the barest of bumps. "I'll need to stay with the ship a couple minutes to finish the shutdown procedure," he told Mon Mothma as he powered down the engines. "Why don't you and Deesix go with Lynia, and I'll meet with you later?"

Mon Mothma looked out the canopy into the mist. She didn't see Lynia, but she could just barely make out the darker shape of a city aircar parked outside. "Are you certain?" she asked him. "I'm sure Lynia would be happy to wait."

"Go ahead, Senator," he urged. "There are a couple tests I want to run on the stabilizers anyway. And Lynia will be eager to give you an update."

"Very well," Mon Mothma said, undoing her restraints and standing up. "Come on, Deesix."

She hadn't seen Lynia outside, but the woman had clearly been there waiting; the entry ramp to the _Hope_ had barely lowered before Lynia came hurrying out of the mist to greet them. "Mon Mothma!" she called out, offering a quick hug. "I mean, Senator," she amended more formally, removing herself and clearing her throat. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too, Lynia," Mon Mothma laughed, holding her at arms-length and giving her a once-over. When most people looked at Lynia, all they saw was a youngish and attractive (if somewhat exotic-looking) woman before them, no different than the myriad of other humans who helped staff the Senate. And in some ways, that was in fact all she was. But Lynia was only _half-_ human, on her father's side: her mother had been something altogether different, and Lynia had inherited some unusual abilities that could be put to good use. She was one of Mon Mothma's most trusted aides. "Deesix missed you as well, I think," she added.

"Yes, indeed, Madam," Deesix confirmed, scuttling down the ramp behind her. "I am pleased to see you are still fully functioning."

Lynia giggled, and Mon Mothma thought she caught a twinkle in her lavender eyes. "Thanks, Deesix." She looked up the gangway. "What about Captain Drayson?"

"He's looking over a few things on the _Hope_. Nothing serious," she added at Lynia's questioning eyebrow, "just a standard check. He said he'd meet us later."

With only a slight little twist at the mouth (by the Force, even her frowns were pretty!) Lynia led them toward the aircar she had waiting for them. "I hope your trip was uneventful," she said as she guided them in before taking the driver's seat.

"Uneventful enough," Mon Mothma said. She helped Deesix strap himself in—the poor droid had trouble sometimes, considering his joints—before joining Lynia in the front. "I noticed some TIE patrols on the way in," she went on. "Drayson thought they were new?"

Lynia nodded grimly. "That's right. We had an incident with some smugglers last week. There was some light resistance, a starfreighter got damaged. Now all incoming ships are subject to search and inspection."

She switched the aircar's engines on, and suddenly they were up and zipping across the Coruscant sky. "Hmm," Mon Mothma said, feeling the wind whip at her hair. "I didn't see anything about that on the HoloNet."

"The Emperor's been trying to keep it quiet," Lynia told her, "said he doesn't want to cause any panic. Personally I think he was glad for the excuse. He's been pushing for more patrols for months. You saw the other reports I sent you?"

"You mean about the protests? I did. Mantooine doesn't concern me, yet—I doubt the Emperor will see them as a threat, not without a more forceful demonstration first—but Sullust is another matter. The Empire is already fostering a significant bias against non-humans. This incident won't help."

"I agree we'll want to keep a closer eye on the Sullustans," Lynia said. "But I wasn't talking about them, or Mantooine. Haven't you heard about Ghorman?"

Mon Mothma's brow furrowed in concentration. "I don't think so. Was it in the latest communiqués?"

Lynia guided them around a cargo-hauler blocking the way. "It should have been. Deesix?"

The droid nodded. "I added it this morning to your pile, Madam. The blue datacard?"

"I must have missed it," she said, turning back to look at him. "Give me the highlights."

"Well, Ghorman is located in the Sern sector, on the edge of the Colonies along the Rimma Trade Route. It is a temperate planet with an average day/night cycle of 20 standard hours…"

"Not those highlights, Deesix. The ones about the protest."

Deesix seemed to consider that. "Ah, yes, of course. It concerns the latest appropriations bill before the Senate: the Emperor is proposing a ten percent tax increase on all trade conducted along the Rimma Route. The Ghormians are refusing to pay."

Mon Mothma shook her head. "And what do they propose instead of the increase?"

Deesix stared at her. "You misunderstand, Madam. They are not refusing to pay the increase. They're refusing to pay _any_ Imperial taxes."

Mon Mothma felt her jaw drop. "What?"

"The Ghormians' position is that additional taxes are not warranted, now that the Clone Wars are over. They are refusing to pay any more until the Emperor dramatically reduces his military presence along the Outer Rim."

"They're not wrong," Lynia mumbled from the driver's seat. "The Clone Wars have been over for months—years now. The Separatists are all defeated. The Empire doesn't need a standing army anymore, let alone a galactic fleet."

Mon Mothma thought for a minute about that shiny new Star Destroyer floating overhead. "That argument has been made by many," she said softly, "including me. It has yet to win the Emperor over. Or a majority of the Senate."

"Yes, and the larger the Imperial fleet gets, the less persuasive it's going to be," Lynia said darkly.

"At any rate," Deesix went on in a high pitch, clearly annoyed at having been interrupted, "the Ghormians have taken to the streets to express their dissatisfaction. Reports indicate they have surrounded the Imperial garrison in the planet's capital."

Mon Mothma let out a heavy sigh. "This won't end well," she told Lynia. "Things have already been tense enough, without the need for more escalation. Do we know how the Emperor is going to respond?"

"The HoloNet report didn't say," Lynia said. "But my sources in the Admiralty Office suggest the fleet's been instructed to prepare some kind of response. I don't have any details yet."

Up ahead the mists were starting to part, and Mon Mothma could just see the rising spire of Wroshyr Tower looming up out of the clouds, the complex where she kept her apartment suite on Coruscant. Named after the famous _wroshyr_ trees on the Wookiee homeworld Kashyyyk, Wroshyr Tower was one of the tallest private buildings on Coruscant, dwarfed only by the Republica and the Emperor's new Imperial Palace and a handful of other structures. "This is exactly the kind of thing we need to avoid, Lynia," Mon Mothma said as Lynia steered them toward the landing areas near the top of the Tower. "If things get anymore out of hand… Let me know the moment you hear more from your sources, will you?"

"Of course," Lynia said. "If it's any comfort, I don't think the Emperor wants this to escalate any more than we do."

"Doesn't he?" Mon Mothma asked, less to Lynia than herself. "It seems like every move he makes is designed to further antagonize the Senate. Perhaps this will finally be the kick the others need to understand how serious things have become."

Lynia let that pass without comment. Instead she brought the aircar halfway around Wroshyr Tower to its south side, where a large opening had been cut into the building's otherwise smooth façade. A platform jutted out from it, providing a place for airspeeders and cloud cars and other transports to be parked. Even in a city as crowded as Coruscant, the platform was only half-filled; there were plenty of spots available for Lynia to choose from. Picking one closest to the doors, she set them down.

Mon Mothma's apartment was near the upper floors, as befitted a Senator: still small in keeping with her modest tastes, but with an unobstructed and impressive view of the domed Senate building glowing in the distance. It was a simple arrangement: just a common area that included a kitchen, dining room, and sitting area; a decent-sized bedroom off the main living section, for Mon Mothma; and a smaller one on the other side for Lynia. "I _do_ have some good news to give you, at least," Lynia said as she led Mon Mothma and Deesix through the front door. "From Senator Organa, actually."

"Senator Organa?" Mon Mothma blurted. Bail Organa, the Senator from Alderaan and one of Mon Mothma's most vocal critics in the Senate. At least, officially. "What is it?"

"It's right there on the table, actually," Lynia said, pointing at the dining room. "It's an invitation," she explained, as Mon Mothma hurried over to examine it, "to a dinner-party he's hosting tonight at Cantham House. He didn't know if you'd be back in time…but if you were, he offered to have you join him."

Unofficially, Bail was Mon Mothma's closest ally. Together the two of them had worked in concert since the days of the Clone Wars to curtail Chancellor (now-Emperor) Palpatine's power. But it was rare for him to contact her so directly. "The timing seems curious," she said, turning the invitation over. "When did he send it?"

"Before the HoloNet report went out, if that's what you're getting at," Lynia said. "I don't think this has anything to do with Ghorman. At least, not initially."

Mon Mothma nodded. The Emperor had spies everywhere, even in the Senate; and with all the rumors about this new Security Bureau that was supposedly compiling lists of anti-Imperial sympathizers, Mon Mothma and Bail were often forced to have their meetings in secret. Or at least under other pretenses. "Who else will be there? Do we know?"

Lynia shrugged. "Just a couple other Senators, I think, maybe one or two dignitaries. But should I reply that you'll be attending?"

"That _we'll_ be attending," Mon Mothma told her. "Whatever it is, Bail must have something important to show if he needs to meet so urgently. I'd like to give those eyes of yours a chance to check it out too, see what you think."

Lynia blinked at her. "That's not exactly how it works," she said, a little stiffly.

"Is that a 'yes,' then?"

Lynia blinked again, then smiled. "As you wish, Senator," she nodded.

"Good," Mon Mothma said, taking a seat at the dining. "Then get that reply out to Bail's people. I want to spend the rest of the afternoon reviewing the other reports you sent in. We need to make sure I didn't miss anything else important in the datacards Deesix gave me."


	2. Two

Cantham House—the Organas' elegant estate, one of several residences they kept on Coruscant—was an altogether different affair from the sleek, almost austere facades that defined Wroshyr Tower and the Republica and the other accommodations used by the majority of Coruscant's political elite. Decorated in the High Style of old Alderaan, it was defined by classic, ornate stonework and wide gardens about the grounds: more reminiscent of, say, the Lake Country of Naboo than the high spires of the Imperial capital. It was here Bail spent most of his time whenever the Senate was in session, surrounded by his staff and droids and other attendants from the Alderaanian retinue. But he spent it largely alone: his wife, the Queen Breha, rarely left Alderaan, now that they had a new baby daughter who needed looking after.

Drayson set their borrowed aircar down gently on the wide street that ran outside the front of Cantham House, casting a wary glance up the long length of stone steps that led to the entry doors—and the chrome-plated droid waiting at the top to greet them. "You're sure this is necessary, Senator?" he asked gruffly. He didn't, Mon Mothma noted, immediately turn off the repulsors.

"Of course I'm sure," she chided from where she sat beside him in the front seat. "There's a reason Bail extended us the invite, Captain—an important one. These dinners are one of the few ways we have to exchange information without the Emperor's spies getting suspicious. We needed to attend. Isn't that right, Lynia?" she added, glancing over her shoulder where Lynia sat in the back, her hair done up in elaborate braids.

"That wasn't quite what I meant," Drayson clarified before Lynia could answer, pulling awkwardly at the stiff collar of his dress uniform. Mon Mothma felt a sudden smile, then did her best to hide it: she'd forgotten how much Drayson hated getting dressed up, even for a Fleet man.

"You're wondering if _you_ needed to attend, too?" she suggested with a raised eyebrow, and Drayson blushed. "Believe it or not, Captain, you are an important part of my team. While I may be against the use of violence, I still recognize its necessity at times, and I value your military perspective. Whatever Bail intends to show us tonight, I'll want your take on it. And yours, Lynia," she added again.

"Thank you, Senator," Lynia said before Drayson could interrupt this time.

"Yes, well," Drayson coughed, finally switching down the engines, "we might as well get this over with, then. Come on, Deesix."

Together the four of them scurried out of the aircar and scrambled up the front steps. "Welcome to Cantham House, Mon Mothma," the chrome-plated droid greeted from where it still waited at the top, in its slow and soothing mechanical voice. "Senator Organa has been expecting you."

It pushed open the front doors—elegantly decorated with brass handles, just as ornate as the rest of the exterior—and the warm, welcoming light of the main foyer suddenly bathed out onto the stoop. "The Senator is currently in the library enjoying pre-dinner drinks, along with the rest of his guests," the droid explained, ushering them inside. "You three are the last to arrive. If you will follow me, please?"

It led them through the door, across the marble foyer and down one of the many branching corridors to a stylish room on the first floor. This undoubtedly was the library, judging both by the walls stacked floor-to-ceiling with shelves full of multicard data sets and, more importantly, by the fact that Bail and the other guests could be seen mingling within. "Thank you," Mon Mothma told the droid as it ambled up to the threshold and showed them in. She looked over her shoulder. "Deesix, why don't you go check on the kitchens? We'll join you in the dining hall when dinner is called."

"Of course, Madam," Deesix responded, shuffling off with the chrome-plated droid.

Mon Mothma stepped into the library, followed closely by Drayson and Lynia. Most of the figures in the room were of course immediately familiar to her. In one corner stood the easily-recognizable frame of Bail Organa himself, tall and dark and dressed in his usual robes of blue and gray, a drink of some amber liquid in his hand; Mon Mothma couldn't see exactly to whom he was speaking (their attention was on Bail, and their backs to her) but judging from their silhouettes she assumed one was Orn Free Taa, the…shall we say, _heavy-set_ representative from Ryloth, along with one of those pretty Twi'lek companions he usually had hanging off his arm. Another chrome-plated droid stood not far away from them, attending with a tray of more drinks. And over by the fireplace, in the crisp gray of an Imperial fleet uniform—

Mon Mothma let out a little gasp. "That's Captain Tarkin," Lynia confirmed in her ear.

"It's _Admiral_ Tarkin now," Drayson corrected softly. "He was promoted, after that last campaign in the Clone Wars. Put on quite an impressive offensive, actually."

Mon Mothma tried hard to ignore the admiration she could hear in Drayson's voice. Captain—now Admiral—Tarkin's career was quite familiar to her, as was his penchant for selecting force over diplomacy at the earliest opportunity. "Impressive or not, I'm surprised Bail would have invited him," she said, trying hard to keep her voice neutral. She looked down at Lynia. "When you said 'one or two other dignitaries' would be attending, I didn't think…"

"I didn't know Tarkin was one of them," Lynia asserted quickly. She paused. "What _do_ you think he's doing here?"

They would get their answer soon enough. By now Bail's eyes had spotted them across the room, standing awkwardly by the doorway. Excusing himself from Free Taa and his guest, Bail wanderedovertheir way. "Mon Mothma," he greeted, stiffly but loudly as he offered his hand, "thank you for coming."

"My pleasure, Senator," Mon Mothma returned…and for once she didn't need to resort to any play-acting to make her voice cool and distant. "You remember Captain Drayson, no doubt; and my associate, Lynia?"

"Of course," Bail nodded to each of them. "Please, get yourselves a drink. The droids will have dinner ready shortly."

Drayson and Lynia excused themselves, drifting off toward the droid with the serving tray. "Mon Mothma—"

"What's _he_ doing here, Bail?" she practically hissed, gesturing over at the fireplace.

"I didn't have a choice," Bail told her, smiling through his teeth. "He was testifying before an armed services committee meeting and overheard me talking with Senator Taa. I couldn't well say no then, could I? Besides," he went on, "the Emperor can hardly accuse us of conspiracy when we are inviting his favorite admirals to our little gatherings. It's the perfect cover."

"I suppose," Mon Mothma conceded, letting her eyes wander back over to the fireplace. There was another fleet officer with Tarkin—a younger man whose round face she didn't recognize, clad in the darker uniform of a commander—and the two of them were caught up in some animated conversation with Drayson, if the flurry of hands was any indication.

"Come on," Bail urged, following her eyes, "you should say hello. It's only polite."

She permitted herself to be dragged over to the fireplace, where she could just catch the last snippet of Tarkin and Drayson's conversation. "Admiral Tarkin," Bail interjected, tapping the other's shoulder, "may I present Senator Mon Mothma?"

"Of course," Tarkin said in his precise Imperial diction, nodding, "I am quite familiar with the Senator. I must admit I am surprised to see you here, Senator Mothma; I had heard you were still visiting your family on Chandrila. And how is your father these days?"

"He's doing well, thank you, Admiral," Mon Mothma said, taking the other's proffered hand. "Though I'm afraid your information is not quite current. I returned to Coruscant this afternoon, as you can see. Perhaps you are in need of better sources." She tried to make it playful.

"Perhaps," Tarkin allowed, taking her in with his pale and measuring eyes. "I've just become acquainted with your man Drayson here," he went on, before indicating the round-faced commander standing beside him, "but allow me to introduce my own attaché, Commander Motti. He advises me on various military matters."

"Senator," Motti bowed stiffly.

"The Admiral was just telling me about his maneuver at the Battle of Murkhana," Drayson explained. "Very ingenious."

"Oh yes," Mon Mothma agreed quickly, "quite interesting, I'm sure."

"You know of it, then?" Motti asked, taking a sip from his cup. "Do you also take an interest in military strategy, Senator?"

She was saved from further comment by the sudden ring of chiming bells. "Ah, the call for dinner," Bail explained, setting his drink down and gesturing them toward the door. "If you'll follow me?"

Mon Mothma let Tarkin and the others slip around her, giving the admiral something between a glare and a half-hearted smile as he went past. She moved to follow— "Stay here a minute," Lynia whispered, grabbing her by the arm.

"What is it?" Mon Mothma asked. She fought back a sudden irritation: no need to take out on Lynia what she was feeling about Tarkin. When had the woman snuck up on her, anyway? "They're calling dinner…Lynia?"

She could see suddenly that Lynia's eyes had changed color: alternated from their usual lavender into a striking aquamarine. "What is it?" Mon Mothma demanded. "Have you seen something?"

Lynia nodded wordlessly. Here was one of those unusual abilities of hers, being put to good use: Lynia sometimes got… _auras_ might be the best word, whenever she looked at certain people. Mon Mothma wasn't sure how else to describe it, and Lynia had never done any better. It was some vestige inherited from her non-human mother, apparently—nothing to do with the Force, as far as either Mon Mothma or Lynia could determine. Clearly she'd just had a vision now.

"What is it?" Mon Mothma asked again.

Lynia swallowed. "It was that Commander Motti," she explained, breathing hard. "When he asked if you if knew anything about military strategy. I saw something then."

"Around Motti?" Mon Mothma pressed.

But Lynia shook her head. "Around you."

Around her? That hardly seemed possible. Lynia usually saw something anytime she looked at Mon Mothma—she'd admitted as much, the first time she'd been questioned about it—but Lynia also claimed the aura never changed. Until now. "What did you see?" Mon Mothma asked her softly.

"I don't know," Lynia confessed. She rarely did—rarely understood what she saw, or at least how to explain it. "Just…something. Like everything suddenly went red."

There were tears at the edge of her eyes; she was practically crying. Her visions sometimes did that, left her a little shaken. "I doubt it's anything important," Mon Mothma lied, glancing at the doorway through which Motti had just exited. "Probably more to do with the commander than me, anyway."

"Are you sure about that?" Lynia challenged.

The bells chimed a second time. "We're going to miss dinner," Mon Mothma said, heading off further comment. "Bail and the others will ask questions if we don't hurry up and join them."

"I honestly don't know how to describe it," Lynia muttered again.

Mon Mothma put an arm around her. "Come on," she said, guiding her towards the door, "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. We can discuss it later."

* * *

The dining hall in Cantham House was even more impressive than the library, worthy of all the trappings that were associated with the High Style. A long and lavish table was set out in the middle of the room—cut and fashioned from some dark, polished wood native to the forests of Alderaan—and surrounded on either side by three high-backed chairs, with one more each at both ends. The serving-droids were already waiting for them, Deesix among them: they stood in a line along the far wall, watching as the guests slowly filed in and took their places.

To Mon Mothma's surprise she found herself seated beside Tarkin on one of the longer sides of the table, practically brushing elbows with the admiral. "Ah, braised bruallki," Tarkin observed as one-by-one the droids brought out the first dish. "One of my favorites. Have you ever had bruallki, Senator?"

"I can't say that I have," Mon Mothma answered simply.

"No? You have been denying yourself a great pleasure! When you have spent weeks on nothing but rations, as I have, you come to yearn for the simple taste of a well-cooked bruallki."

"And what is it that brings you back to Coruscant, Admiral?" Drayson asked as Deesix placed a plate in front of him. "Other than the bruallki, of course."

"Yes, what?" Mon Mothma pressed. "Last I had heard, you were inspecting the garrisons in the Outer Rim. Did something go wrong?" She leaned back smugly. _There._ Something to show _she_ had sources on _him_ , too.

Tarkin smiled dryly. "You're very well informed," he told her, "for a Senator. One might wonder where you get such precise information." He looked over at Drayson. "To the question, Captain: nothing went wrong, I've simply been recalled…by the Emperor himself. He has a special assignment he wants me to oversee."

"Ohhh, a special assignment!" squeaked Free Taa's pretty companion, stroking one of her head-tails— _lekku_ , if Mon Mothma remembered the Twi'lek term correctly. "And what is it?"

"Top secret, I'm afraid, madam," Tarkin said, giving her a conspiratorial look. She giggled behind her fork.

"And what about you, Senator?" Motti asked, leaning over from Tarkin's other side. "It was my understanding that most Senators returned to their districts whenever the Senate was in recess. You are from…Chandrila, was it? What brought you back to Coruscant?"

"There is no such thing as a recess for a Senator, Commander," she sighed, "not really. The same, I'm sure, for a fleet man," she added, and Motti nodded appreciatively. "But if you must know, it was these reports of unrest and political demonstration that forced Captain Drayson and I to return prematurely."

"You mean on Sullust," Motti sighed sadly. "Yes, the Admiral and I received an update earlier this week. Most unfortunate."

Everyone around the table noddedin agreement. But Lynia stared at Motti oddly. "What exactly do you mean by _unfortunate_ , Commander?" she asked.

Motti shrugged. "Only that the poor creatures have resorted to such counterproductive measures. A factory strike only prevents Sorosuub from completing their contracts on time, which in turn limits the wages they can pay their workers. It harms the Sullustans as much as anyone else."

"Counterproductive measures?" Mon Mothma frowned. "Is that what you call a people exercising their right to self-expression?"

Tarkin chuckled. "Is that what they're doing? Are the creatures even capable of such a thing, do we know? I've worked with Sullustans before, Senator. A babbling race, hardly capable of intelligent thought."

At one end of the table Free Taa coughed awkwardly. "I have worked with the Sullustans myself, Admiral—in the Senate for many years," he puffed. "I am not so sure I would agree with your characterization of their people."

Tarkin opened his mouth to respond— "And what about Mantooine?" Mon Mothma challenged. "No doubt you've heard about those protests, too. Are the humans there equally incapable of self-expression, in your estimation?"

"Even humans can sometimes be misguided in their actions," he told her, pointedly. "I ask you: what have such protests accomplished…other than to weaken the Empire, make her more vulnerable to enemy attack?"

"What enemies?" Mon Mothma demanded; and Free Taa added softly, "The Clone Wars have been over for years, Admiral."

"All the more reason to keep the Empire strong: to ensure such a catastrophe can never happen again. Need I remind you that the Separatist movement was born from demonstrations like these? Nor, I have heard," he continued darkly, "are the Separatists our only enemy." He did not elaborate.

From the head of the table, Bail cleared his throat. "A lively discussion, to be sure," he tried, smiling. "You will have to forgive my colleague, Admiral, if perhaps she is a little over-zealous. You can see why we disagree so much on the Senate floor." Mon Mothma glared at him.

Tarkin turned toward her, focused on her with those pale, intensive eyes. "I am a simple man, Senators; a military man. I am not a politician, nor do I subscribe to any particular political belief. I have only one belief: in the superiority of order over chaos, of action over inaction. Everything I do is in service of that ideal."

"But this is exactly why the Sullustans are protesting," Lynia piped up from Bail's right. "The Emperor's claim to power is that it's the only way he can keep us safe. But how do we know that's true, unless we're allowed to have an open dialogue?"

"The Emperor was duly confirmed by act of the Senate," Motti reminded her, "and after rigorous debate, I might add. There's nothing undemocratic about that."

"During wartime," Lynia countered. "Now that the war's over, does he still need that much consolidated power?"

"If the alternative is risk of another war?" Motti pushed back.

Mon Mothma waved Lynia quiet. "You say you believe in order over chaos, Admiral," she said. "And you believe representative government and free expression are impediments to that goal?"

Tarkin practically snorted. "Representative government is a luxury the galaxy can no longer afford. It is too slow, too unreliable; the Clone Wars proved that. Consider the incident on the Emperor's home world of Naboo, during the Trade Federation blockade. The Senate sat and deliberated, convened endless committees to investigate the validity of the Naboo's claims…when what was needed was immediate, decisive action. Queen Amidala knew that. I believe she was a personal friend of yours, yes?"

Mon Mothma nodded. "But Padme also understood that before we _can_ act we must first determine _how_ to act. Which is why we Chandrilans believe that violence must always be the last resort, not the first…as do the Alderaanians," she gestured at Bail. "And the Naboo."

Tarkin paused. "Your father," he asked suddenly, "he was an arbiter-general for the Republic, if I recall correctly."

Mon Mothma frowned, glanced at Drayson. "That's right."

"Then you are aware that the primary purpose of his role was to ensure order across the galaxy? To the point of apply force where necessary?"

Mon Mothma shook her head. "He was a general, true; but he was an arbiter first. My father always believed in deliberating with his enemies before taking action against them."

"And yet all his arbitration would have been useless if he had lacked the power to enforce it, yes? Words will only take you so far. It is strong, decisive action that is critical if our government is to survive."

"Take this new situation on Ghorman, then," Drayson interceded, "the tax protests. If you were, hypothetically, the Ghormian governor, how would you handle it? Not with force, surely."

But Tarkin shook his head. "There is nothing hypothetical about that scenario, Captain."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I will have to decide _in fact_ what is to be done about the situation there," Tarkin told him. "That special assignment I mentioned? The Emperor is dispatching me to Ghorman to personally resolve the demonstrations."

"You!" Mon Mothma blurted.

Tarkin gave her another one of his cold smiles. "Don't sound so surprised, Senator. The Emperor has been most displeased with the local governor's inability to control the situation, and has no desire for further escalation. He has asked for someone with a, shall we say, _stronger_ hand to step in."

"But the protests on Ghorman are political," Free Taa asserted. "They are not military."

"Incorrect, Senator. They are not political, they are _administrative_ : and is it not the very purpose of the military to assist the Emperor in executing his administrative needs?"

Mon Mothma hid a grimace. So Tarkin was it—the response Lynia had heard about from her source in the Admiralty office. "And what do you intend to do?" she asked quietly.

"To be frank, I had not yet reached a decision," Tarkin admitted. "Commander Motti and I have been discussing several alternatives. But I suppose you have a suggestion?"

"You know my suggestion," she said, looking directly at him. "Open a dialogue with the protesters, hear them out. All they want is to have their voices heard."

"Is that _really_ all they want?" Tarkin smirked. "And here I thought they didn't want to pay their taxes."

Mon Mothma ground her teeth. "Regardless of your opinion on the merits of their demands," she tried, "they're not any kind of military threat. They're just engaging in self-expression."

"Ah, and what if other systems are equally indulged to engage in their right to _self-expression_ , and likewise refuse to pay any taxes? It's a domino effect, and anarchy is the inevitable result. No, it must be quashed, and quashed swiftly!"

This last he declared with a fist upon the polished table, rattling his plate. "Forgive me," he said then, clearing his throat. "I too can sometimes become over-zealous." He poked at his food to hide a sudden embarrassment.

Mon Mothma glanced across the table, shared a look with Lynia. "You consider yourself a strong man, don't you, Admiral?" she asked.

Tarkin looked up at her. "I believe strength is the only position worth operating from," he said bluntly. "It's the only way to ensure the protection of the people under my supervision."

"Ah! But isn't the greatest strength one that doesn't need be used? A strength so forceful, everyone knows there is little point in moving against it?" She touched his arm. "When the Jawa strikes the Wookiee, does the Wookiee bother lashing back?"

"I suppose," Tarkin conceded doubtfully.

"Well, likewise, wouldn't the best testament to the Empire's true power be to restrain yourself from any immediate retaliation against the Ghormians—to show how strong your position really is? You have the guns, and they know it: prove you won't be impressed by their little tantrum. Yes, that strikes me as a _far_ more complex task, to put an end to these demonstrations without the resort of violence...for a man so accomplished as yourself."

"Is that a challenge, Senator?" Motti asked. He sounded amused.

Mon Mothma shrugged. "If you choose to see it as one. I'm told that Admiral Tarkin never shirks a test."

Tarkin stared at her for another long moment. A second smile split his lips then—not a smirk this time, but a genuine one. "It is true I appreciate a good challenge," he admitted, bowing his head. "This seems very important to you, Senator."

"It is," she said.

"Hmmm. Very well! I accept the challenge."

"You'll hear them out?" Lynia asked. "You'll find a non-violent solution?"

"I make no promises! But I will do my best, see what I can do to find an alternative to these protests."

He held up his drink in salute, before finishing it off. "Wonderful!" Free Taa exclaimed, clapping his hands. "It is so enjoyable to see our colleagues in the Fleet and Senate coming together!"

"Yes," Bail agreed, "it is wonderful." But he glanced oddly in their direction—whether at Tarkin or Mon Mothma herself, she couldn't say.

* * *

The rest of the dinner passed pleasantly enough—or at least, without event. Conversation drifted back and forth: everything from a spirited debate on the best vacation spots on Coruscant to Motti's review of the most recent performance at the Galactic Opera House. The appetizers were removed and the main course brought in, followed by dessert and a post-dinner brandy, until at last the evening was played out and the time for departing arrived.

So it was that at the end of the night Mon Mothma found herself once again beside Admiral Tarkin, standing out on Cantham House's front stoop as he bid her a final goodbye. "I must thank you, Senator," he was saying, offering a differential nod, "for a most engaging evening. The conversation was…interesting."

"And I you, Admiral," Mon Mothma said. At the foot of the stairs Commander Motti stood patiently, watching and waiting. Further back she could see a couple of Bail's droids helping Free Taa get his sizable bulk into his airspeeder, supervised by his lovely female companion. "I hope you'll honor your word, and take our little chat to heart."

Tarkin laughed politely. "A man does not usually rise to the height of my station without already being somewhat set in his ways, Senator," he admitted. He bowed his head slightly. "But I will keep my word."

"Then you really will try and find a diplomatic solution to the Ghorman protests?" Mon Mothma asked hopefully.

"As I said before, such a definitive promise is beyond my ability to guarantee. Unfortunately the pleasant ideals discussed over a dinner party must sometimes give way, when faced with the realities of the field! But I _will_ do my best."

They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming up behind them. "Senator Mothma?" a voice called out. It was Bail. "A word, please, Senator, before you depart."

Mon Mothma offered Tarkin a thin smile. "I expect I am due for a lecture on the proper etiquette of a Senator at dinner parties."

Tarkin smiled back. "Undoubtedly. My advice, if you'll consider it, would be: don't let him to be too hard on you. Conviction is useless if it is not strongly-held—I should know. Good evening, Senator."

Without a word more he turned and descended quickly down the stairs, joined by Commander Motti before the two of them headed towards their own airspeeder down the street. "Mon Mothma?" Bail repeated.

Mon Mothma turned around, to find Bail's tall frame standing in the doorway silhouetted by the foyer light. "Let me guess," she said before he could get started. "You're worried I was too combative with him."

"You might say that," Bail observed dryly. "I understand that you didn't want the admiral here, but that didn't mean you had to intentionally antagonize him."

"I was only telling him the truth," Mon Mothma shot back. "The Fleet has clearly got their eye on me, and Tarkin must have _some_ familiarity with my speeches in the Senate. So there was no reason to restrain myself just because we were sitting across from one another over drinks and bruallki." She paused. "Besides, the more outspoken _I_ am, the more it puts attention on me and insulates _you_ from their suspicions."

"Hmmm," Bail allowed. "It's still risky."

Mon Mothma sighed. "Did you want me to woo him with honeyed words?" she argued. "That would have looked more preposterous than anything else."

"I'm not disagreeing," he told her, taking her upper arm and grabbing it tightly. "But we must be careful. Tarkin isn't just another fleet admiral. You heard him; he's got the ear of the Emperor himself, and rumor is he's being brought into Palpatine's inner circle. Word of this is bound to get back to him."

"Very well," Mon Mothma conceded with a sigh, "I shall be more cautious in the future. Now. May we finally discuss whatever new scheme of yours precipitated the need for this farce of a dinner party?"

Bail grinned. "All right," he said, releasing her arm and waving her on. "Come with me. The others are already waiting."

She followed him back through the halls into the library, where the others were indeed already waiting: Drayson and Lynia sitting together on one of the plush sofas, while Deesix and Bail's chrome-plated droid chattered excitedly together in a language Mon Mothma didn't recognize—Bocce, maybe? "This is all of us?" she asked as she followed Bail in and took a seat in one of the sofas across from Drayson and Lynia. "Just the four of us?"

"For tonight," Bail said, grabbing the comlink from his belt. "All right, Aach, you can come in."

One of the side doors opened—access, Mon Mothma presumed, allocated for the droids and other servants—and two men stepped through. The first she recognized at once: Aach (a codename, Mon Mothma had always presumed; she didn't know his full name, or even if he had a real one) was one of Bail's most trusted clandestine agents, and had been working behind the scenes for the Organas for months now. Mon Mothma had met with him often, though rarely outside the confines of Cantham House—it was critical for his cover (and hers) that they not be seen making direct contact.

But the man who walked in behind Aach she didn't recognize. "Ah, there you are," Bail said, claiming one of the empty chairs around the sitting area for himself. "Aach, I believe you already know Mon Mothma's staff: Captain Drayson and her assistant, Lynia. And, of course, the Senator herself."

"Of course," Aach said, taking them in each in turn. "Senator," he added as he came to the end, giving her a respectful nod.

"It's good to see you, Aach," Mon Mothma smiled. She glanced behind him. "And who is this gentleman?"

"An associate of mine," Aach told her, slipping aside so the man could step forward. "May I introduce Captain Garven Dreis?"

"Captain?" Drayson repeated. "Captain of what?"

"I served in my planet's Air Defense Fleet during the Clone Wars," Dreis explained, in a slow regional drawl Mon Mothma couldn't quite place. "On Virujansi."

That was it. "I'm familiar with the campaign on Virujansi," she said. "Welcome, Captain. We're glad for your company." And now she turned to Bail. "And why has the unfortunate captain been brought into our little conspiracy?"

"For the record, Senator, _he_ approached _us_ ," Aach intervened, urging Dreis on. "Captain?"

Dreis cleared his throat. "For the past couple months I've been working as a test pilot at the Incom Corporation's new fighter division. Ever since the end of the Clone Wars, they've been looking to develop something that could rival the success of their previous work on the ARC-170."

"And with the rise of Sienar's TIE series, Incom's concerned they're lagging behind for fresh Imperial contracts," Lynia suggested.

Dreis nodded. "Exactly. Hence the project I've been assigned to. Take a look."

He reached into his tunic and pulled out a small holo-disk, laying it out on the table. "The T-65B," he identified the small, nimble starfighter that suddenly appeared. "Incom's newest space superiority fighter. Equally suited for intercept and hit-and-fade missions as it is for escort or bomber duty. These here," he pointed at the pairs of cylindrical pods situated on either side of the cockpit, "these are 4L4 fusial thrust engines, allowing for speeds up to 70 MGLT. They're fast," he added at Mon Mothma's blank stare. "You've probably already noticed the four KX9 laser cannons, one for each wing; it also sports two Krupx MG7 proton torpedo launchers, holding up to 6 torpedoes each, as well as a Koensayr R300-H hyperdrive motivator for deep-space operation." Dreis leaned back and smiled. "There's no official name for it yet, but the boys have taken to calling her the 'X-wing.'"

The X-wing. Yes, Mon Mothma could see that, judging from the way the two wings on either side split out when in attack position. "Very interesting, Captain," she said, trying to sound respectful. She looked between Aach and Bail. "And why is Captain Dreis showing us this so-called 'X-wing?'"

Aach smiled grimly. "Because we're going to steal it."

There was a sudden silence in the room, the kind of hard, deep silence no one wants to break first. "Excuse me?" Drayson braved at last.

Bail leaned forward. "Captain Dreis and his team are going to steal it. This," he pointed at the holo-disk, "this is going to be the first weapon in our true campaign against the Emperor. You heard the captain: it's versatile, it's powerful…and most importantly, it's small. Well-suited to our goals for armed rebellion."

Mon Mothma shared a glance with Lynia. _This_ had certainly gotten interesting. "And are we readying to make armed rebellion, then?" she asked pointedly.

Bail sighed. "You've seen the reports. Systems across the galaxy are grown tired with the Emperor's iron rule. It's going to come to a head soon: you know it as well as I. The old Republic can't be salvaged anymore, I see that now…so we have to clear the way for the new one. I'd prefer to be prepared when that time comes." He jabbed a finger at the holo. "And that means fighters."

Mon Mothma frowned, reminded for a moment of what she had told Tarkin tonight: that Chandrilans considered violence a last resort. _But haven't we exhausted all the others?_ she asked herself pointedly. "What do you think, Captain?" she asked, turning to Drayson now.

Drayson studied the holo-schematics carefully. "We don't have many starfighters in the Chandrilan Defense Fleet," he admitted, "so I'm relatively unfamiliar with such craft. But I agree with Senator Organa: a snubfighter would make an ideal tool for the kind of guerilla warfare we'd need in a campaign against the Empire. Assuming it's as powerful as Captain Dreis says," he added dryly.

"Oh, it is," Dreis assured him. "Trust me, I know starfighters. This little beauty could even take down one of those fancy Star Destroyers, given the right opportunity."

Drayson snorted. "A starfighter take out a capital ship?" he said incredulously. "I don't know about that—"

He died off at Mon Mothma's gesture. "When would you do it?" she asked Dreis.

The man glanced at Aach, shrugged. "In a couple of days, probably," Aach told her. "We'll need that much time to make sure the rest of Captain Dreis's team is in position."

"We're all with you, Senator," Dreis added, offering her a salute.

Mon Mothma hid a smile. "Then you approve?" Bail asked, looking at her.

She stared back at him. "I approve," she said at last. It felt strange to say it out loud. She'd spent so long planning for this moment, it felt almost surreal that it had finally arrived. "It's risky, but I agree it's the best alternative available to us right now."

"Then you may move forward with your plan," Bail told Dreis. "Aach or myself will be touch in a few days."

"Yes, Senator," Dreis nodded; and then, straightening, offered Mon Mothma a deferential bow. "Senator Mothma. I just wanted to say I'm looking forward to working with you. It was your speeches in the Senate that helped convince us to join with Aach here."

"Thank you, Captain," she said, and tried to ignore the sudden frown she caught on Drayson's face in the corner of her eye. "We look forward to working with you as well. All of us."

Dreis offered another bow. Then, escorted by Aach, the two removed themselves from the room via the side-door through which they had come in. "What was that last bit all about?" Drayson demanded.

"Your employer is a real lightning rod in the Senate, Captain," Bail told him, his face neutral. Clearly he'd caught Drayson's frown too, and was working just as hard to ignore it. "She's quite the recruiting tool…even if she _does_ need to learn when to cool things down," he added dryly.

"Yes, well," Mon Mothma said, smoothing her robe. "Can I assume that concludes our secret business for the night?"

"Yes," Bail confirmed, "and it's probably best if you three were gone soon, too. I didn't spot anything out front, but that doesn't mean the ISB didn't leave a probe droid behind. If they don't catch you leaving soon, they might get suspicious."

"What about Captain Dreis?" Lynia asked. "We don't want to be seen leaving with him."

"He and Aach will take the back way. Come on," he said, getting up from his chair and gesturing towards the library door, "I'll walk you out."

But it wasn't till they were halfway on the ride back to Wroshyr Tower that Mon Mothma suddenly remembered Lynia's vision, and Motti's inquiry about her military interests. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," she told herself quietly, for the third time; and then settled tiredly into the front seat.


	3. Three

"Do you still have that copy of the Abregado report," Mon Mothma asked Lynia, "the one that has the numbers Deesix ran?" It was several days later; the two of them were back in Mon Mothma's apartment in Wroshyr Tower, crowded around the large table in the dining room and reviewing what would become Chandrila's official response to the Emperor's proposed tariffs on the Rimma Route. There had been no word so far on either the Ghorman protests or Admiral Tarkin's progress there, not even if he had yet arrived. They had been waiting eagerly for any news…but the HoloNet had been silent.

"Lynia—the Abregado report?" Mon Mothma repeated, and Lynia looked up from the data pad she had been reading—an update from the Gamorrean delegation, if Mon Mothma remembered correctly. "Sorry," the other woman said, shuffling through the various data cards scattered across the table. "Here," she said finally, selecting one and handing it over to Mon Mothma, "it should be on this one. Although I'm still not convinced Deesix's numbers are accurate."

"They're accurate," Mon Mothma promised, taking the card and sliding it into her own data pad. This was it, all right: an analysis of the larger economic effect of the tariffs on the region. "For all his faults, Deesix knows his numbers." She nodded at Lynia's screen. "Any luck on your end?"

"Not really," Lynia said, setting down the data pad with a sigh. "The Gamorreans still intend to support the Emperor, even if they don't agree with the policy." She rubbed tiredly at her eyes: her aura abilities sometimes worked as well on abstract reports as they did on reading people, but they seemed to be failing her now. "I still think we're going about this the wrong way," she mumbled, stroking the bridge of her nose. "An economic argument isn't going to convince the Emperor anymore than our other ones."

"I disagree," Mon Mothma said, thumbing through the Abregado report. "If we can present the Emperor with sufficient proof that these tariffs will suppress economic activity along the entire Route, it may be enough to persuade him to abandon the policy."

"But it's not the real reason you're against the tariffs," Lynia protested.

"Perhaps not," Mon Mothma allowed. "But we discussed this, Lynia. The Emperor isn't receptive to any arguments suggesting a decrease in military spending. And the ultimate purpose of an argument is, after all, to convince the other side. We have to find something he'll be responsive to." She reached the end of the report and set it aside. "Nothing new here. What if we tried to spread the pain around, extend the tariffs into other systems?"

Lynia snorted. "Then we'd just have protests on Corellia and Malastare _instead_ of Ghorman and Mantooine. Maybe even _along with_."

"You're probably right," Mon Mothma admitted, ejecting the Abregado data card and sliding in another. "How about Senator Antilles's speech last year—"

She broke off as the door to the apartment suddenly slid open. "Ah, there he is," Mon Mothma smiled as Deesix waddled in. "Deesix. We were just reviewing your numbers on Abregado. Although Lynia has some doubts as to whether they're even accurate."

"They are accurate, Madam," Deesix promised, while Mon Mothma studious ignored the tongue Lynia stuck out in her direction, "I ran them several times to be sure. But I'm afraid you must put aside the Ghorman response for the time being."

"Are you sure? Because Lynia was pretty insistent—"

"Madam, please," Deesix interrupted forcefully, and Mon Mothma stopped: the droid almost never cut her off. "I bring a message from Captain Drayson. He wanted me to show this to you at once."

"Show us what, Deesix?" Lynia asked, straightening up in her chair. She had noticed how serious he'd gotten, too. "Let's see it."

Slowly Deesix wandered over to the wall where Mon Mothma kept her holo-projector. Wordlessly he turned it on, and the screen above started flashing with images being broadcast across the galaxy. Deesix kept turning the dial till he found the desired channel. "Ah," he declared finally, turning up the volume, "here we are."

It was a HoloNet report, live and simulcast. Mon Mothma took a step closer for a better look. "Deesix?" she asked softly, staring at the holo-screen.

"They only started reporting it ten minutes ago," Deesix explained in his usual calm and conversational tone, almost as if Mon Mothma hadn't spoken. "Captain Drayson asked me to inform you as soon as he saw it—he assumed you'd wish to know at once." He studied her. "The captain's judgment was correct, if I am reading your faces accurately."

The report was from Ghorman. Mon Mothma listened to the newscaster's voice with only half-an-ear, her attention instead on the small ticker that scrolled along the bottom of the screen. _Massacre on Ghorman_ , the words read, before moving aside for further detail, _Hundreds of Protesters Dead, More Injured_. Mon Mothma read the words over and over, barely aware of the hollow feeling that was taking over her chest: it felt like this was happening distantly, to someone else.

"'Hundreds dead?'" Lynia read the line off the ticker. "I don't understand. What happened?"

"It was Tarkin," Mon Mothma said. It was a statement, not a question. "It had to be Tarkin."

Deesix tilted his head. "You are correct, Madam. The reporting is still incomplete, but it appears that upon the Admiral's arrival in-system a large group of protestors took over the landing field and refused to disperse despite instruction otherwise. This," he pointed a jointed arm in the direction of the holo-cast, "was the result."

"That bastard," Mon Mon gritted through suddenly clenched teeth. Lynia let out a little gasp—Mon Mothma almost never swore. "I can't believe he attacked them. He promised he'd find a non-violent option. He _promised_."

"Pardon me, Madam," Deesix interjected, offering the droid equivalent of a cough, "but Admiral Tarkin did not fire on the protesters. They were instructed by the Admiral to clear the landing field in order to allow his ship to land. When they did not comply, he simply landed the ship anyway."

Lynia coughed. "Are you saying," she demanded, "that he _landed_ on the protesters?"

Deesix turned his head toward her. "That is what the HoloNet is reporting. So you see," he continued, looking back at Mon Mothma, "the Admiral _did_ technically keep his word from Senator Organa's party."

Mon Mothma fought back a sudden surge of anger. Deesix was only a droid, after all. " _Technically?_ " she repeated; she made it sound like a dirty word. "Do you consider _this_ a non-violent solution?" She jabbed a finger at the holo-screen.

Deesix considered. "Perhaps you are correct," he allowed, and she could tell behind those saucer eyes of his he was re-evaluating his grasp of human behavior. "I am merely a droid, and no doubt do not understand the nuances of your language. I had assumed a non-violent solution was one that did not involve the use of military action."

"Forget Deesix, Senator," Lynia suggested, coming up behind Mon Mothma and taking her arm. "What are we going to do about Tarkin?"

Mon Mothma sighed. It was just as she had predicted: the Emperor had permitted things to escalate too far, and now the situation was completely out-of-hand. Sending an admiral to deal with a political protest— "We'll need to convene an emergency session of the Senate," she told Lynia, stepping towards the table and searching among the scattered data cards for her data pad. "We'll need Bail, Senator Taa, the entire Delegation of 2000…Ghorman is in Sern Sector, isn't it? Have they elected a replacement for Senator Zar yet?"

"Forgive me," Deesix interjected again—he was starting to make a habit of it, "but that won't be necessary. An emergency session has already been called…by the Emperor himself."

Mon Mothma stopped what she was doing, turning away from the table slowly. "The Emperor?" she repeated, sharing a look with Lynia.

Deesix nodded. "That is correct. He has recalled Admiral Tarkin and has demanded his presence before the Senate in three days. The entire Senate is commanded to attend."

"Maybe that's good news?" Lynia offered, in the kind of tone that implied she didn't believe it herself. "Why else would the Emperor call him back except to give him a dressing-down?"

"One of his favorite admirals?" Mon Mothma challenged. "In front of the entire Senate? No," she shook her head wearily, "I have a bad feeling about this."

Neither Lynia nor Deesix had a response to that. "So what do you want to do?" Lynia asked finally, breaking the silence.

Mon Mothma continued to stare at the holo-screen. "Get in touch with Bail," she started. " _Unofficially_ : use backchannels if you have to, even if it means Aach. I want to know how he intends to respond to this."

Lynia started writing down on her data pad. "And then, Madam?" Deesix asked.

"And then, Deesix," Mon Mothma said, feeling her hands clench, "and then we start preparing a response of our own. I'm tired of letting these incidents go without comment. It's time we let the Emperor know we won't stand for it any longer."

* * *

Mon Mothma had not yet been back to the Senate Building since her return from this most recent visit to Chandrila. It had not changed much since the last time she'd been here—no surprise there, she had seen that readily enough from the vantage she had of it from her apartment window in Wroshyr Tower. The same domed rooftop, glittering in the Coruscant sunlight (on the bright days, at least), the twin rows of angled statues that were laid out like a hedge along the path to its front entrance...the Senate Building was much as it had always been, even back to Mon Mothma's first term during the glory days of the Old Republic.

But there was one difference, a subtle but important change that was hard to let pass without comment. Where in prior days the halls of the Senate had been defended by the blue-robed, high-helmeted figures of the Senate Guard, they were now patrolled instead by the white-armored ranks of the Emperor's newly-formed stormtroopers. The same stormtroopers, Mon Mothma remembered, who had assaulted the Jedi Temple and been key to the Emperor's rise to power. A subtle reminder, if anyone needed it, of who was in command now.

Drayson set their aircar down on the back platform by which the Senators usually entered and exited. More of those white-clad stormtroopers watched them as they landed, studying them wordlessly through emotionless faceplates. "Here you go," Drayson said, finding a spot close to the entrance. "I'll find a place to park the car. Signal me when you're ready to leave."

Mon Mothma was already halfway out the door before she paused. "You're not coming in?" she asked.

Drayson hesitated. "I'd rather not," he confessed softly. He waved a hand at the building. "I don't want to see all…this. If you don't mind, Senator."

Mon Mothma frowned, not quite sure what the _this_ was to which Drayson was referring. _Did he really admire Tarkin's campaign that much_ , she wondered, _or is it something else?_ But all she said was, "Of course, Captain."

Once the three of them had exited the aircar and Drayson risen back up into the sky they made their way through the main doors and into the building. The stromtroopers let them pass unmolested, though one of them did turn his head pointedly as they pattered by. The Senate Building interior was only a slight improvement over the façade outside: a conservative mix of that classic style worthy of Cantham House with the austere shapes of the Coruscant skyline. A soft mat of nondescript carpeting (taupe or beige or some other muted color) covered the floors, while the walls remained bare except for the occasional pattern of a simplistic geometric shape. Some Senators, Mon Mothma knew, liked to decorate their own particular chambers with more flair: bright colorings from floor-to-ceiling and high-backed, elaborate furniture—the Emperor's own chambers were a good example. But the main halls of the Senate were kept to a minimum, the better to avoid offending the tastes of as many species as possible.

With Lynia and Deesix in tow Mon Mothma hurried down the halls towards the level that held the circular platform designated for the Chandrilan delegation. Here the corridors were jammed with beings from all across the Empire, designated representatives of an entire galaxy: everything from wide-mouthed Quarren to long-necked Quarians, from a cluster of chattering Bith huddled in one of the conversation pits to a lanky Kaminoan wandering lazily past. And, of course, plenty of humans. "The whole Senate must be here," Lynia breathed as they squeezed their way through a pair of lumbering Wookiees. "including each sector's junior representatives."

"It certainly seems that way," Mon Mothma agreed, casting a look about. Yes, Lynia was right: the Senate Building was about as crowded as she'd ever seen it, filled end-to-end with senators and representatives and other dignitaries. Even among that great mass she could still spy at consistent intervals the white spot of an occasional stormtrooper, watching over the proceedings. "Look," she said then, pointing towards a tall shape coming towards them. "There's Bail. I wonder what…"

"Senator Mothma," he greeted stiffly as he approached, acting up the distant dislike they displayed for each other in public. His staff was assembled behind him—Mon Mothma didn't see Aach (that was to be expected, Aach usually acted covertly) but the cluster did include a handful of protocol droids, and Mon Mothma wondered mildly if the chrome-plated serving-droid from the other night was among them. "It's no surprise seeing you here."

"If you mean it's no surprise that Chandrila wishes to register its frustration with these most recent events," Mon Mothma countered, "then you are correct. An action I would encourage the Alderaanian contingent to consider as well."

"And we will," Bail confirmed, "though perhaps with a little more polish than you are accustomed to." He cast a look about before taking her by the arm. "I wonder if I might have a private word, Senator?" he asked, nodding at their staffs pointedly.

Mon Mothma instructed Lynia to meet her at their seats, then allowed herself to be guided over towards an out-of-the-way spot behind a nearby column. "What is it?" she asked, casting her own look around the floor. But no one seemed to be paying them any mind, not even the stormtroopers. "They're going to start soon."

"We still have a minute," Bail told her. He too was staring at the stormtroopers, and trying hard not to look obvious about it. "Don't worry," he smiled, noticing her frown, "none of the ISB's recording devices can catch us here. I had Aach do a scan for their blind spots."

"Fantastic," Mon Mothma said dryly, shifting her feet impatiently. "Now what is this all about?"

Bail finally brought his full attention on her. "That speech you plan to give," he said, darkly and deadly serious, "you can't do it. Yes, I know all about it," he added at her surprised look, "Lynia tipped us off when she met with Aach. And you can't give it."

"What _are_ you going on about?" Mon Mothma demanded. "Of course I'm going to give it. This nonsense has gone on long enough, Bail."

"It's too forceful," Bail went on, as if she hadn't spoken, "and too soon. Do you really want to draw the Emperor's attention to us, _just_ as we're starting to build up a real resistance?"

"Draw his attention to _me_ ," she growled back. "This is my decision—and my risk—to make. And I've made it."

They were interrupted by the sound of chimes: the call for the Senators to take their seats, the warning that the session was about to begin. "They're starting," Mon Mothma said, trying to push past Bail.

"Wait!" he hissed, reaching for her arm. "We need to think about the longer strategy here. If we show our hand too soon, we jeopardize everything we—yes, _we_ —have been working towards. _Don't do this._ "

The chimes rang a second time. "I'm tired of the long strategy, Bail," she told him bluntly. "We've allowed ourselves to become too tentative for too long; meanwhile, people are dying. It's time for action. Now, _if you'll excuse me?_ " she finished over the noise of the ringing, finally slipping past him.

She found Lynia and Deesix waiting for her in the Chandrilan box, looking out on the long line of concentric rings that circled down the Senate Rotunda. In the center of the room, rising up from the floor like a long spear, was the wide podium where once-Chancellor, now-Emperor Palpatine ran the Senate meetings. It was no surprise to see him already in position, clad in his usual dark robes with the cowl drawn up, the better to hide the great disfigurement he had supposedly endured at the hands of the Jedi years ago: from those shadowed depths peered out a pair of yellow, penetrating eyes. It _was_ increasingly rare for the Emperor to make a personal appearance in the Senate these days—he usually left such matters to his Vice-Chairman of many years, Mas Amedda, since becoming Emperor—but this special session had been called by him, and the Emperor would lead it.

To his right stood Mas Amedda himself, tall and stoic with his blue mane and long horns and clutching his staff of office in his hand. But on the Emperor's left-hand side… "There he is," Lynia told Mon Mothma, pointing.

Mon Mothma tried to follow where she indicated. "Who?"

"Who else?" Lynia countered darkly. "Admiral Tarkin."

Yes, there he was all right, in a position of honor on the main podium beside the Emperor. "Hmmm," Mon Mothma muttered thoughtfully. "He doesn't seem too nervous. Doesn't make it very likely the Emperor brought him here for a dressing-down, does it?"

"Probably not," Lynia conceded, her eyes twinkling. "Look—he's staring right at us."

Mon Mothma saw she was right. Tarkin had been squinting among the rows of gathering senators until he had located the right level, and now he was staring up at Mon Mothma and Lynia with those piercing eyes and gaunt expression. Mon Mothma stared back at him, pointedly; she wasn't sure if he noticed, not at this distance, but she spied what felt like a mocking smile as he turned away.

"Order!" someone shouted out suddenly over the din; it was Mas Amedda, banging upon the podium with his staff. "This emergency session of the Senate is set to begin!"

Mon Mothma and Lynia took their seats. The chamber quickly quieted down as the remaining senators likewise found their places, settling into their respective boxes along the wide length of the Senate rotunda. When all had finally fallen silent the Emperor rose slowly from his own seat and started his address:

"Members of the Galactic Senate!" he began, his steady and sonorous voice echoing across the chamber (benefitted, in part, by the comm speakers hidden in strategic locations throughout the room). Mon Mothma knew this speech was also being broadcasted live via the HoloNet, and she could only imagine the millions of beings across the galaxy who were crowded around their holo-projectors watching. "Distinguished representatives! The Empire has reached a critical turning point, one from which it cannot falter. Although the Separatists have been defeated and the Clone Wars ended, there are still forces in the galaxy—rebellious, discordant forces—that seek to plunge our society once more into anarchy!"

He paused then, allowing his words to sink in. Mon Mothma glanced about the Senate, desperate to see what effect, if any, the Emperor was having. Most of the faces she saw were blank, unreadable: whether due to reservation or some other reason, she couldn't say. But there were some gathered there—particularly among her human colleagues—who were staring at the Emperor with rapt attention.

"You have heard," the Emperor went on then, "of these traitorous demonstrations—on Mantooine, on Sullust, on Triton and Ghorman—protesting the protection and security ensured by the Empire. Do not be deceived! Though there may be some among you who believe these demonstrations to be nothing more than harmless acts of self-expression, they are instead a concerted effort to weaken our resolve and plunge us into a second civil war."

"'Concerted?'" someone repeated then, no doubt at some assigned cue. "Are you saying these protests are being coordinated? By whom?"

"By whom, indeed, Senator? My agents tell me they have uncovered evidence of a growing resistance movement across the galaxy, funded by former Separatists—and including members here of our own esteemed Senate! Seditious traitors who wish to exchange the security of the Empire for the allure of their own rise to power. I ask you: what else but a coordinated strategy amongst such individuals could explain the sudden rise of demonstrations we are seeing across the Empire?"

There was a growing murmur amongst the Senators. At the words _coordinated_ and particularly _former Separatists_ many of the people gathered there had started mumbling amongst themselves. Mon Mothma leaned in closer to listen.

"Yes!" the Emperor went on, his booming voice rising above the murmur. "Take this most recent tragedy on Ghorman. I dispatched one of my most senior officers, a great hero of the Clone Wars," here he indicated at Tarkin, who nodded politely, "to put a peaceful end to the Ghormians' demonstrations. He did not seek violence—though a refusal to pay taxes is itself an act of violence, is it not, a wound to the very core of the Empire? How are we to keep the space-lanes safe, I ask you, if we are unable to fund the ships to do so?

"But when Admiral Tarkin arrived, he found only more rebellion and discordance. Rather than meet with the Admiral to permit their views to be heard, these rebels instead chose to rile up innocent civilians in order to prevent the Admiral from even landing. When Admiral Tarkin attempted to disperse the crowd in the completion of his duty, the instigators would not permit the other protesters to leave. This tragedy…well, you all know what was the result."

"Here it comes," Lynia whispered in Mon Mothma's ear.

"It was with my authority that Admiral Tarkin acted as he did, to end the Ghormian riots as quickly—and bloodlessly—as possible. I know there are those among you wish he had acted otherwise…those who were not there, who have never risked their lives for the Empire the way Admiral Tarkin has. Though the loss of life is regrettable, I commend Admiral Tarkin for his ingenuity and quick thinking, to end this crisis before it could spiral anymore out of control."

" _Ingenuity?_ " Lynia's hissed. " _Quick thinking?_ " Mon Mothma hushed her quiet.

The Emperor paused again, gazing around the chamber. "Such a strong hand on the helm is exactly what we need if we are to move past this latest crisis. Men like Admiral Tarkin should be celebrated, not denigrated. As such, I am promoting him to the rank of Moff, and name him Imperial governor of the Sern and Seswenna Sectors. There his talents will no doubt serve the Empire well…"

Mon Mothma felt her jaw drop as the Emperor droned on. _Promoted?_ Palpatine was _promoting_ Tarkin after this debacle? Surely not! She hadn't been so naïve as to think the Emperor might punish Tarkin for his abuse—not really, not without a push from the Senate—but a promotion? And to _governor?_ Suddenly everything Mon Mothma had hoped to say at the session today fled from her mind, left her speechless.

Her opinion was apparently a mixed one in the Senate. Half the Senators had taken to their feet at the Emperor's announcement, cheering and applauding both Tarkin and the Emperor himself with great enthusiasm. But there were others among them, those who remained seated with stone faces and hands in their lap. No doubt their names were being noted by the Imperial Security Bureau, for further follow-up and investigation. She was both relieved and annoyed to spy Bail among the former, though even at this distance his applause appeared muted.

And Tarkin himself? Mon Mothma turned towards him now, and his honored position to the Emperor's left. The Admiral—Moff, now—looked as smug and satisfied as ever, that self-assured smile hovering over his lips again. "Order!" Mas Amedda was screaming from the Emperor's other side, banging his staff upon the podium, "the Senators will come to order!"

Mon Mothma realized now that not all the commotion was positive. Underlying the din she could hear a handful of jeers and other comments, impugning the Emperor as much as his newly-minted Moff. Most of it, if she was judging the voices and languages correctly, was coming from the non-human representatives. "Order!" Mas Amedda tried again, and as ineffectually as before, "the Senate _will_ come to _order_!"

"Justice for Ghorman!" someone shouted; while somewhere down the line to Mon Mothma's left another chortled, "Down with Tarkin the Tyrant!"

Mon Mothma watched Tarkin's expression suddenly turn sour, the smile on his lips twisting downward into a sneer and the lines around his eyes hardening. But the Emperor continued to wave among the Senators, either unbothered or simply uncaring—she wasn't sure which. "Order!" poor Amedda was practically screaming now, still banging uselessly.

"Justice for Ghorman!" the voice kept shouting, growing almost shrill. "Justice now!"

"The esteemed Senator from Malastare _will_ keep his voice down, until his appointed time for speaking has arrived!" Amedda demanded.

But even if the esteemed Senator from Malastare did fall reluctantly quiet, his cry was quickly taken by others throughout the rotunda. "Justice for Ghorman!" they started chanting. "Justice for Mantooine! Justice for Sullust!"

"Silence!" Amedda went on, desperately. "We will have silence until the Emperor is finished!"

"I for one should like to hear from someone other than the Emperor," a new voice interjected then. Mon Mothma blinked in surprise: why, it was Senator Taa, as round and portly as ever. Usually he was reserved, even docile, in these sessions, a bigger proponent of closed-door dealings than bombastic Senate speeches. But now he put that baritone voice of his to good use, lecturing from the perch of his box. "This is the Imperial _Senate_ , is it not? Surely it is a place for Senators to discuss these issues, not just the Emperor. Senator Mothma," he paused then, turning towards her, "perhaps you would like to speak?"

The entire Senate as one turned their faces up toward her. She was acutely aware of it, just as she was acutely aware of the sudden fidgeting of Lynia and Deesix behind her, and she felt a cold sweat clamming up on her skin. Looking about Mon Mothma at once realized why Taa had selected her: of all the Senators who had not applauded, she was the only one who was not non-human.

"Senator Taa, I…" Her voice drifted off for a moment as she gazed around the chamber. Over by the Alderaanian delegation she could see Bail, staring at her and shaking his head as if he could will her to keep herself quiet. Further down was Tarkin, his previous smiles and frowns replaced by something new—a thoughtful, almost wary expression as he watched Mon Mothma closely. And then there was the Emperor himself: quietly staring up at her with those cold and calculating eyes, all that could be seen from the shadow of his hood.

Mon Mothma took a breath. "Senator Taa, I thank you for the opportunity to speak. I had initially intended to offer you all an impassioned speech against the deeds of Admiral Tarkin—I do not, will not call him Moff—and his actions at Ghorman. My staff spent hours, days helping me prepare it, citing precedents from the entire history of the Old Republic." She looked over at Bail. "But I cannot give it now.

"I can say only this: that we have just heard our distinguished Emperor as he explained the many reasons Admiral Tarkin is worthy of our appreciation, protecting us from a so-called coordinated effort designed to propel the galaxy once more into civil war. He has offered us sweet words—words of protection, and security, and safety. But I tell you, his words are false."

There was a gasp then, a collective one that seemed to fill the entire chamber. Down at the podium Mon Mothma saw the Emperor's haunting eyes suddenly narrow, focusing in on her like a tractor beam from one of his fearsome Star Destroyers, but she plodded on before he could interrupt. "Yes! I say he has offered us only fictions and deceit. There is no concerted effort, not second Separatist revolution to move against the Empire. There are only a million voices, crying out at once. And why are they crying out, you might wonder? The Emperor does not care. His only care is to silence them, bring them to heel before they can grow any louder."

She could hear growing mumblings as her own voice crescendoed with momentum. "The Emperor says all he wants is to keep the galaxy safe," she went on, half-remembered words from her speech coming back to her. "And yet here he promotes men to protect us who only know violence. I asked Admiral Tarkin—yes, I met with him personally, prior to his assignment to Ghorman—to try and find a non-violent response to the protests. The Admiral in turn gave me his word he would try. Yet we have all seen what Admiral Tarkin considers to be _non-violent_ : hundreds dead, more wounded. What is the toll to be, should one day he be commanded to resort to true violence?"

"Tarkin the Tyrant!" one of the delegates (Mon Mothma couldn't tell who) started up again.

"You all know me, Senators," Mon Mothma continued, "and more importantly, you all knew my father. When my father served you as arbiter-general for the Republic, he knew that only a sustained belief in the power of peace would keep the fabric of our society whole. Unity, not force, is what binds us together. My father taught me that destruction and violence were meant to be his last resort, not the first. This is a lesson that was lost the day the Republic died and the Empire was born.

"Yes, I had a speech I had intended to make: to convince—to beg—the Emperor that the only response to Admiral Tarkin's actions must be some punishment, to send a message that such unilateral, irrevocable acts will not be excused. It was to be a good speech. But there is little point now. The Emperor hears no words but his own, and follows no counsel but that which already agrees with him. He does not hear the million voices crying out, nor does he wonder why they do or what they want. If so many cry out, he thinks, it must be a conspiracy; for him there is no other explanation!" She stared down the rows of platforms beneath her, brought her stare directly into the yellow gaze of the Emperor. "Emperor Palpatine, I say to you: there is no movement, no new Separatists acting against you. There are only citizens, wanting to be heard. But if you continue these iron-fisted policies against them…there may be."

The Emperor stared back at her, his eyes hardly flinching; Mon Mothma was glad she could only barely see them properly at this distance, so sure was she of the hate and venom that must be broiling behind them. The rest of the Senate had fallen eerily, uncharacteristically silent…no interruptions, no calls of "Tarkin the Tyrant!" or "Justice for Ghorman!" anymore. There was only the echo of Mon Mothma's voice as she prepared her final words.

"Mr. Chairman," she said then, directing her gaze beside the Emperor to Mas Amedda, "the planet of Chandrila logs its formal protest against this promotion. We will not stand for such willful acts of violence to go rewarded." A long pause. On the Emperor's other side, she watched as Tarkin quivered with rage. "Mr. Chairman," she repeated, when Amedda did not at once respond, "do you note our protest?"

"It is noted, Senator," he said finally.

"Thank you, Mr. Chairman," Mon Mothma said stiffly; and without another word stormed out of the Senate.


	4. Four

"Mon Mothma? Senator!"

Mon Mothma felt herself being shaken, violently; she awoke with a start. For a moment all she could remember was the strange dream she had been having: about herself, and Bail, and Tarkin too, and even the Emperor…and above all the distinct image of a galaxy enflamed in red. Then her eyes focused, and in the darkness she saw staring down at her two glowing, nightmarish, saucer-like disks. It took her brain a moment to realize what she was looking at: the faceplate and photoreceptors of Deesix, peering down at her as he leaned over her bed. "What is it, Deesix?" she asked the droid, yawning.

"Forgive me for the intrusion, Madam," Deesix begged, in maybe the most concerned tone Mon Mothma had ever heard him use before, "but there is an urgent matter that demands your immediate attention."

"It most certainly _should be_ urgent," Mon Mothma warned, glancing at the bedside chrono. "You _do_ realize it's almost 3 in the morning?"

"Yes, Madam," Deesix confirmed. In the darkness she saw a sudden blob of white: Deesix, holding up her cream-colored robe. "I assure you I would not have awoken you for anything less. Mr. Aach is awaiting you in the living area."

"Aach!" Mon Mothma blurted, coming fully awake. Aach never made direct contact, not ever: especially not at Mon Mothma's personal apartment. "What is it?" She felt her own tone go suddenly weighted with concern.

"I'm afraid only Mr. Aach can answer that question," Deesix said, raising the robe pointedly. "If you will get dressed, Madam?"

It took Mon Mothma only a minute to get the robe around her before she was scurrying through the bedroom door into the main living area, Deesix in tow. Aach was there all right, clad in his typical dark cloak and standing awkwardly by the large bay window that overlooked the Senate Building. Usually the rotunda was swarming with activity; but at this time of night it was muted and dull, the occasional night-lights upon its gray exterior the only points of interest. The man turned round at the sound of the bedroom door opening. "Senator Mothma," he greeted, crossing the distance to her almost before the door had even closed.

"Aach," Mon Mothma greeted in turn, hurrying to him. She glanced toward the open window; but surely the ISB didn't have any probe droids lurking about. Did they? "What brings you here? It must be important; this visit is highly unorthodox!"

"I'm sorry, Senator," Aach said quickly, taking her hands, "Senator Organa would have done it any other way if he could. I'll get to the point at once: you're in danger."

"Danger?" Mon Mothma frowned. She glanced back at Deesix. "What kind of danger?"

"The immediate kind, else the Senator wouldn't have sent me," Aach told her, also looking at Deesix. "I've already explained to your droid. We need to get out of here at once." He started pulling her toward the main door.

"I don't understand," Mon Mothma told him, resisting. "What kind of danger?" She turned back to her protocol droid. "Deesix?"

"I thought he'd told you," Aach explained. "That little speech you gave today…it didn't go over well over with the Emperor, or the ISB either. He's released the order to have you arrested."

 _Arrested_. The word washed over Mon Mothma, skirted right past her as if it applied to someone else. "I still don't understand," she heard herself say, dimly.

"There's been a release issued for your arrest," Aach repeated, rephrasing the words in a way that might help her better understand. "The ISB is on its way here right now to see that order executed. You're to be taken into their custody, no doubt for imprisonment and interrogation." He took a deep breath. "They _know_ , Senator," he added desperately, "they know. About you, and Captain Dreis, and all the other stuff; or at least suspect enough that it doesn't matter. They must, else they wouldn't be sending the ISB themselves." He glanced out the window. "My best guess is that we only have moments until Imperial stormtroopers—under the instruction of the Bureau, of course—arrive to take you in. And anyone else found with you," he finished pointedly.

Mon Mothma looked about the room. She realized suddenly they weren't alone: Lynia at least was also with them, huddled in a corner not far from the door to her own room and clad in one of the thin shifts she wore while sleeping. "Lynia?" Mon Mothma asked softly.

"He's telling the truth, Senator," Lynia whispered back, crouched and scared and clearly uneasy. "At least, he thinks he is," she amended, her blue eyes flickering in the darkness. "We need to go—before they arrive."

"She's right," Aach told Mon Mothma, reaching into his tunic and pulling out a holo-disk. "Take a look."

He turned on the projector, and suddenly a plethora of images flashed above the disk. "ISB stormtroopers," Aach identified them for her, "heading this way. They must be already in the building, if I'm picking them up on this. We need to get you out of here."

Mon Mothma watched them for a moment, marching in step with each other on the image. "Then let's go," she decided, taking a deep breath. Bail had warned her, and she hadn't listened—and now she was about to pay the price. "If they're on their way," she went on, looking past the holo-image directly at Aach, "we need to go now."

He stared back at her, a grim and determined expression on his face. "Then let's go," he said, glancing around the room. "Is there anything here you need to take with you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mon Mothma took his meaning. "Everything related to Cantham House and the Rebellion is in Deesix," she told him. "Nothing is here to be found by the ISB."

"Then we'd better take the droid with us," Aach decided. _And ensure the ISB doesn't get their hands on him_ , she almost heard him add, but he had the decency not to say it aloud. "Follow me."

He had them wait huddled in the foyer while he checked the front door to make sure the hallway outside was unattended. But it was late, or rather early—three in the morning, she had told Deesix, far too early for anyone other than a service droid to be muddling about—and the halls were quite empty. Satisfied, Aach waved them on behind him, and one-by-one they filed out and made their way down the corridor. "Where are we going?" Lynia hissed past Mon Mothma to Aach.

"Main lift," he whispered back, glancing down a cross-corridor. "Another one of Senator Organa's agents reached out to your captain, Drayson. He's meeting us with your ship on the Tower roof."

Mon Mothma barely heard them. "I still can't believe this," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "Arrested? I knew my speech wouldn't go over well, but _this_ …It's too bold, even for the Emperor."

"You saw the holo-image," Aach reminded her. "And if I may say so, Senator…Senator Organa _did_ warn you the ISB were watching. For some time, I might add. Your speech was just the final push—all the excuse they needed to round you up." Out of the corner of her eye Mon Mothma caught Lynia's sudden glare at the back of his head.

"No," Mon Mothma said before Lynia could respond, shaking her head. "You're right about the ISB, Aach, and maybe I should have been more careful. But I've made similar comments publicly before. Perhaps they were never so direct, and rarely to the Emperor's face—how could I, when he doesn't show up to Senate sessions anymore?—but this is about more than the speech." She took a breath. "It was Tarkin. I saw him, at the Emperor's side while I was speaking; he was practically foaming. He's the one who's pushed for this."

"It's well-known that the Admiral doesn't appreciate being made to look a fool," Aach agreed softly. "You may be right."

"The Senate won't sit still for this!" Lynia spoke up finally. "When they hear the Emperor's attempted to arrest an Imperial Senator—"

"They'll what?" Aach challenged. "If all goes to plan the Senate won't even find out. I saw the arrest order: 'to be taken quietly,' those were the Emperor's instructions. That's why they're doing it now, at night: hoping not too many people will notice." He grinned darkly. "Although now that I'm here that may prove difficult…Ah, Sithspit!"

He came to a sudden halt. "What is it?" Mon Mothma demanded, trying to peer over his shoulder.

"This," he told her, turning around and holding up his holo-pad. "They've already taken the main lift and locked it down," he explained. "My guess is they've got a squad on its way up right now." He gritted his teeth thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you know of another way out of here?"

"There is a second bank back the way we came, sir," Deesix said quickly, "for service droids and other deliveries."

"Does it go all the way to the roof?" Mon Mothma asked.

"Doesn't matter," Aach interrupted. "If those troops are on their way up, it's our best bet to get out of here as quickly as possible. Lead the way, Deesix."

Turning around they all shuffled back the way they had come, following Deesix now as he led them down a second cross-corridor toward this service bank. Mon Mothma puffed in line after Lynia, keenly aware of Aach's breathing as he brought up the rear behind her. He still had his holo-pad out, and she spied him periodically checking it for updates on their pursuers. "How much farther, Deesix?" she asked the droid ahead.

"We are almost there, Madam," Deesix told her, coming up on another hallway. "It is just around this corner—"

"Wait!" Aach urged, bursting forward and grabbing the droid by the arm. "Do you hear that?"

They all stood silently for a moment, listening. "I don't hear anything," Lynia tried.

"I do," Aach said grimly, slipping past her. "Stay here."

He sidled up to the edge of the wall and peeked around the corner. "Just what I thought," he whispered as he slid back. "ISB. Two of them, guarding this bank as well."

Mon Mothma could hear them now, too: the faint but unmistakable, voice-modulated chatter of Imperial stormtroopers, coming from around the bend. "What do we do now?" she wondered, trying to get a peek of her own around the corner. They were there, all right: she could just make out the two of them, standing idly but with blaster rifles held at the ready. "Should we go back the way we came?" she asked Aach.

"They already got a squad up by the main lift," Aach shook his head. "It looks like we're trapped." There was the soft, scrapping sound of metal against cloth; and Mon Mothma watched as he pulled a small hold-out blaster from his cloak. "What are you doing with that?" she demanded.

"What does it look like?" Aach challenged, checking the power levels. He let a critical eye sweep across the three of them. "I don't suppose it's too much to hope that any of you brought a blaster?"

Mon Mothma pulled herself up. "Chandrila is a peaceful planet," she reminded him sternly. "Our people do not subscribe…"

"Sure, sure," Aach interceded gently, "Alderaanians, too. I don't suppose you'd rather go out and there and try to reason with them?" he raised an eyebrow pointedly.

Mon Mothma shuffled uneasily.

"Well, then," he finished, as if that settled the matter.

"There may be another way," Lynia interrupted suddenly, placing a restraining hand on his blaster-arm. "A third exit that the ISB wouldn't know about."

"Third exit?" Aach repeated, sharing a glance with Mon Mothma. "What's she talking about?"

Gently Lynia helped Aach lower his blaster. "It's not far from the Senator's apartment," she elaborated. "Come with me."

They hurried again back the way they had come, this time with Lynia taking the lead. Mon Mothma studied Aach as he jogged beside her; he still had his blaster out, she noted, but at least he'd switched the safety back on. Deesix shuffled as fast as he could behind them. "This way," Lynia announced, coming to another corridor and turning down it. "It's down here."

It wasn't a corridor Mon Mothma recognized, although that wasn't saying much: most of her time in Wroshyr Tower was spent in her apartment, not wandering the hallways outside it. To her eyes it looked no different than the many other corridors that criss-crossed through the Tower, with paneling and ornate friezes carved along the wall—depictions of Kashyyyk wildlife, mostly. "This is it," Lynia confirmed, running up to one of the panels. "It's here."

Aach frowned. "This is a dead-end," he told her, watching dumbly. "What are you doing?"

"It's one of these," Lynia told him, running her hands along the frieze. "I just need a second."

"Lynia—" Mon Mothma started, coming up behind the woman. She could hear a new sound now, echoing back the way they had come: not the modulated chatter of a couple stormtroopers, but something much worse—the unmistakable crunch of a marching phalanx, stepping in formation down the hallway. That squad of ISB agents Aach had been talking about, the one that had come up the main lift…it must be coming up behind them now.

"I just need a _second_ ," Lynia repeated forcefully. Her probing fingers suddenly found the appropriate indentation, and with a soft _click_ the panel in front of her popped open. "See?" she said, stepping back. "I _told_ you."

Mon Mothma stood beside her. The panel had slid aside, revealing a dark opening within: a secret passageway. "Maintenance tunnels," Lynia identified them, a smug little smile plastered on her face. "Left over from when the Tower was first built. They don't get used much anymore, except by the MSE droids that do the cleaning."

"Maintenance tunnels," Mon Mothma repeated, taking a step up and looking inside. The passage was a little narrow, but it was well-maintained and well-lit…and most importantly, it would get them out of there. "I'm impressed. How did you find out about these?"

"I pulled up the architect's schematics when we first moved in," Lynia explained. "I thought it might be useful to find out if there was another escape route out of here, and these caught my eye. The _original_ schematics," she amended, looking at Aach. "The final copies—the ones submitted to the Senate Library—don't show them. It's doubtful the ISB even knows about it."

"Who cares how she learned about them?" Aach interjected, waving them forward with his blaster. "Let's just get in them before we get any more company."

They scurried inside single-file, with Mon Mothma in the lead this time and Lynia bringing up the rear. "Just keep going," the latter called up, urging Deesix forward. "These stairs should lead all the way to an access hatch on the roof."

"It should only be a couple more flights," Aach agreed, puffing behind Mon Mothma. His holo-pad had been replaced with a comlink, and he was speaking urgently into it now. "Captain Drayson, this is Aach," he breathed, holding it up to his mouth in a stage-whisper. "Captain Drayson, do you copy?"

There was a hiss of static and a muffled voice on the other end. "I've secured Senator Mothma and her team," Aach explained. "We're on our way to the landing platform now—we'll meet you and the _Hope_ there."

There was a confirmation on the other end and then the comlink went dark. "Landing platform?" repeated Lynia, who had clearly also been eaves-dropping. "I thought you said we were meeting Drayson on the roof."

"We are," Aach told her as he followed behind on the stairs. "That was just for the benefit of any nosey ISB agents who might be listening in…and there _will_ be nosey ISB agents listening in. Don't worry, Drayson knows where to meet us. Ah, looks like we're here."

They had reached the top of the stairwell and the end of the line. A small, single door blocked their way; Mon Mothma pressed at the panel switch to the left, and the door slid aside. A sudden gust of Coruscant night air cameblowing through the doorway, brushing across her hair and face. "Everyone out," Aach instructed from behind her. "Quickly now!"

They all stumbled out onto the roof. It was another cloudy night, and the skies above them were dark and foreboding: the city searchlights were barely able to penetrate as they shot up from the planet surface, scanning the cloud cover. "I don't see Drayson," Lynia announced as she practically bumped into Mon Mothma while slipping through the doorway. She took a pointed look around. "I don't see anyone."

"Neither do I," Aach agreed; and even in the dark Mon Mothma could see him fiddling the blaster he kept under his cloak. Worried, perhaps, that the ISB had seen through his little subterfuge after all?

"He should be here by now," Lynia went on, desperately. "I thought you said Drayson knew to meet us on the roof!"

"He does," Aach fired back, craning his neck towards the sky. "If you'll just wait a min—ah, there he is!"

He pointed up. Out of the dark clouds emerged the _Chandrila Hope_ , its chrome exterior and muted running lights making it look like a phantom in the mists. Carefully it came soaring over the roof of Wroshyr Tower, before settling in a position just above them and hovering expectantly. The entry ramp extended out towards them.

"You see?" Aach smiled, releasing his hold on the blaster and waving them on. "Everyone aboard. Lynia, give Deesix a hand with that ramp, will you?"

For a moment it looked like she might argue with him; then, almost reluctantly, she guided Deesix over and started helping him up. "You, too, Senator," Aach instructed, looking at Mon Mothma. "Trust me: you don't want to wait around for the next shuttle. My guess is the city air patrols will be here any minute."

"What about you?" Mon Mothma asked, before the realization suddenly hit her. "You're not coming with us, are you?"

"I'm afraid this is indeed where we part ways, Senator," Aach confirmed with another smile. "I've other assignments for Senator Organa to complete: I can't spend _all_ my time looking after you. I'll find my own way out, it shouldn't be hard once your ship clears the tower…but don't worry, Drayson knows what to do. There's an abandoned Jedi medical facility in the asteroid belt near Polis Massa—he should already have the coordinates. Senator Organa's set up a safe-house for you there. He'll try and meet you once things have cooled down."

"Thank you, Aach," Mon Mothma said, reaching out and patting the man's shoulder. "For everything."

"Don't thank me," Aach said; even in the dark, Mon Mothma could see him blushing. "Thank Senator Organa. It was his work, mostly."

"Then tell Bail thank you for me," Mon Mothma said, "but thank you, too."

Aach was saved from further comment by a sudden flash of the _Hope_ 's running lights. "Signal from Captain Drayson," he identified it, "air patrols are almost here. Get going, Senator."

She gave Aach one last look; then without another word turned and hurried after Lynia and Deesix up the entry ramp. She found them already waiting for her in the ship's cockpit, strapped into the comm and navigation stations in the back. Drayson, not surprisingly, was there too, fidgeting impatiently at the pilot controls. "Finally," she heard him mutter as she slipped through the door, before asking, "Are we all set? Air patrols will be in range in any second." His gaze slipped past her shoulder. "What about Aach?"

"He's not coming with us," Mon Mothma told him, dropping into the co-pilot station beside him. "I've locked the access hatch. We're ready to go."

"Then let's go," Drayson declared, pulling on the flight controls and sending them rising back up towards the clouds. Mon Mothma glanced out the viewport. She could still spy Aach, though barely: only a tiny spec of a cloaked figure as the _Hope_ rose swiftly up into the night sky. By the time Drayson had them angled and rocketing off toward the upper atmosphere, the Tower roof was already empty.

* * *

Tarkin was trying to relax in his main cabin when he received the call. It was just reaching early morning on the planet below—too early for most civilized beings to be up and about, even on Coruscant—but Tarkin was still on Ghorman time and was having trouble sleeping. So he'd returned here, to the quarters he kept on his Star Destroyer, and idly reviewing some of the reports that awaited his attention. A handful fell within the ambit of his old responsibility as admiral, but most pertained to his new promotion as Moff of the Siwenna and Sern sectors: reports on political machinations, and economic unrest, and all the other things governors had to deal with.

So Governor Tarkin was here—flipping through his data pad and trying hard not to dwell on the embarrassment Mon Mothma had put him through today on the Senate floor—when the intercom on his desk suddenly pinged. "Yes?" he asked lazily, switching it on.

"Apologies for disturbing you, sir," came the voice of a young lieutenant (the one currently on bridge duty, if Tarkin remembered correctly). "We're receiving an emergency message from Coruscant Traffic Control."

"And what is it?" Tarkin pressed with only half-a-mind. Surely the bridge crew could handle it, whatever it was. He glanced briefly at the chrono by his desk: just past 3 am local time. If he remembered correctly, Emperor Palpatine's troops should be infiltrating Mon Mothma's apartment building right about now.

The lieutenant cleared his throat. "There's a ship attempting to flee the city," he explained carefully. "Sir, it's the _Chandrila Hope!_ "

Tarkin sprang up in his chair, the data pad in his lap tumbling to the floor. "What did you say?" he demanded, leaning in toward the intercom. No. It wasn't possible.

"The _Chandrila Hope_ ," the lieutenant repeated, taking Tarkin's question literally. "Senator Mothma's personal yacht—it's attempting to escape!"

"I know what the _Chandrila Hope_ is," Tarkin snapped. "Where is it now?"

"They've just cleared the troposphere," the lieutenant explained, sounding appropriately timid. "The city's air patrols are unable to pursue. They'll be within hyperspace range in ten minutes."

"Move the ship into intercept position along their projected escape vector," Tarkin told him, already getting up from behind his desk. "I'm on my way up."

With a snarl he switched off the intercom. _Incompetent imbeciles_ , he thought angrily—but he didn't mean the lieutenant. Tarkin had no idea how the ISB had managed to screw this one up—a single senator, and a pacifist one at that, slipping out of their net—but he intended to make sure the Emperor ordered a full investigation, just as soon as he was back on Coruscant.

But that was for the future. Right now, he had a senator to catch. Straightening his tunic, he hurried out the door toward the bridge.

* * *

The ship appeared on their scope almost at once. They had barely cleared the troposphere, leaving the airspeeders that safeguarded the skies above Imperial City far behind, when there came a sudden ping from the sensor screen. "What is that?" Lynia asked, pointing at it.

"We've got another ship moving into intercept position," Drayson said tightly, his grip on the flight controls white-knuckled.

"TIE fighters?" Mon Mothma suggested, remembering the patrols that had been flitting about the Coruscant space-lanes during their inbound trip.

"Worse," Drayson said, tapping the screen. "Look."

The dot slowly materialized into a distinct image: the triangular shape of an Imperial Star Destroyer. "Wonderful," Mon Mothma swallowed, recalling too late that other craft that had been floating above the planet. "How soon will they be on us, Captain?"

"They've trying to block our main escape route," Drayson told her. "My guess is they'll be within tractor range in seven minutes."

And the navicomputer projected they'd still need another ten before the _Hope_ cleared the planet's gravity well and could make the jump to hyperspace. "Pardon me, Captain, but…what should we do now?" It was Deesix.

"Pray?" Drayson suggested dryly. "I've already got the ship's engines at full throttle. Unless someone else has any bright ideas?"

Mon Mothma glanced over her shoulder, where Lynia was sitting in the navigator's chair behind her and staring out curiously through the cockpit canopy. "Lynia?" she asked, poking the other woman. "What is it? What do you see?"

With an effort Lynia turned away from the canopy, gazing at Mon Mothma with a dazed expression. "That Star Destroyer," she explained, "it's the _Devastator_."

"The _Devastator_?" Drayson repeated, a suddenly dark tone to his voice. "You mean Governor Tarkin's flagship?"

"The same," Lynia confirmed, sharing a meaningful look with Mon Mothma. "The very one he used at Ghorman."

Mon Mothma took a look of her own out the canopy, watching the approaching Star Destroyer with renewed interest. "You saw the way he looked at you during your speech," Lynia was whispering in her ear. "If Tarkin's in command of that ship…"

"Yes," Mon Mothma agreed quickly. She didn't need Lynia to say more. She had seen how Tarkin had looked at her: furious, foaming, a man out for blood. "There might be a way," she started, letting her gaze sweep across the rest of the cockpit—across Lynia, and Drayson, and Deesix. She was suddenly, acutely aware of the responsibility she had to the three of them. "If I were to board one of the _Hope_ 's escape pods and jettison back toward the planet, it's possible Tarkin would follow me and let the rest of you go."

"Senator!" Lynia and Deesix both exclaimed at once.

"Let me finish," Mon Mothma went on quickly. "If we aim the pod away from the _Hope_ 's current trajectory… _and_ if I send out a broadcast as soon as it's launched—"

"Forget it, Senator." This was Drayson, grim at the ship's controls. "We're not abandoning you." Lynia nodded in agreement.

"Captain—"

"Besides," he interrupted, "if you think Tarkin will just break off his pursuit, you're crazy. With respect, ma'am," he added swiftly, in what was no doubt intended to be a differential tone. "Any Star Destroyer crew worth its salt can get a tractor lock on an escape pod and a fleeing ship at the same time."

"Very well," Mon Mothma growled back, slumping into her chair. "I don't suppose _you_ have any suggestions, then?"

"Sure I do," Drayson repeated himself darkly. "Like I said: we pray."

* * *

"Governor," the on-duty lieutenant greeted as Tarkin cleared the catwalk that spanned the _Devastator_ 's bridge and entered the main command center. "We're almost within range of the _Chandrila Hope_. She's coming up on our short-range sensors now."

"Good," Tarkin said, stepping up to one of the trapezoid viewports that lined the room. It was hard to make out anything out there, what with the mish-mash of civilian traffic against the dark backdrop of Coruscant below; but Tarkin could just spy the bright, almost organic shape of the _Chandrila Hope_ , shooting out towards deep space. And it was getting closer. "How long until we're within tractor range?"

"Three minutes," the lieutenant told him smugly. "And it will be an additional three before their ship clears the planet's gravity well enough to make the jump to lightspeed. We have them, Governor."

"Yes," Tarkin agreed, watching the _Hope_ 's small, shiny dot as it streaked across the planetary shadow. Trying hard not to remember once again that embarrassing display Mon Mothma had put him through this morning… "What?" he asked, realizing the lieutenant was still talking.

"I said," the lieutenant repeated, "should I have the ship's tractor beams standing by?"

Tarkin stared at the young man, considering. At those round, green eyes: not unlike the eyes of Mon Mothma herself, glaring back at him across the wide distance of the Senate floor as she railed against the initiative he had shown on Ghorman— "I've another idea," he decided suddenly, turning back toward the viewport. "Ready the ship's turbolaser batteries."

A soft cough sounded from somewhere in the back of the lieutenant's throat. "The…turbolasers, sir?"

"And instruct the TIE pilots to report to their fighters," Tarkin amended, "just to be safe." He glanced out the corner of his eye at the other man. "Is there a problem, lieutenant?"

Whatever that had been in the back of the man's throat, he cleared it. "No problem, sir. Only…you're sure, Governor? You wouldn't rather take them alive?"

"Quite sure, lieutenant," Tarkin confirmed. The _Devastator_ could take the _Hope_ easily, of course; like the lieutenant had said, it would be within tractor range well before Mon Mothma could make the jump to lightspeed, and no civilian ship could escape once the Star Destroyer had a lock. But taking her alive, like this, with all the planet watching, would mean a public trial, possibly even in the Senate itself—which would mean more speeches (most certainly by Mon Mothma and likely by others of those revolting pacifist Senators), further tirades decrying the Emperor and his New Order. When it was all said and done, a conviction would likely leave Mon Mothma a martyr for this new spark of rebellion that seemed to be spreading…if public outcry left the Emperor lucky enough to secure a conviction at all.

But killed while trying to escape—yes, that was much cleaner. Something this lieutenant would have to learn to pick up on, if he wanted a further future in Tarkin's bridge crew. "You have your orders, lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," the man nodded quickly. Whatever his faults, at least he was good at following instruction. "Alpha Group, report to your fighters at once. Starboard batteries, prepare to fire."

And as the starboard gunners began reporting in, and the pilots of Alpha Group confirmed their launch, Tarkin allowed himself a rare smile. Yes, this way was _much_ cleaner indeed.

* * *

Back on the _Hope_ , Mon Mothma watched helplessly as, on the sensor scope, the shipfinallycame within range of the _Devastator_. But not, apparently, of just its tractor beams. "Hang on!" Drayson exclaimed, as the Star Destroyer suddenly opened fire and he threw the _Hope_ into a crazy twist through the spears of bright energy that lit up the Coruscant skies.

"Oh my!" Deesix exclaimed from behind him, throwing up his arms. "What are they _doing?_ "

"They're firing on us!" Lynia announced, aghast.

"Yes," Mon Mothma agreed grimly, staring out the canopy at the arrowhead shape that was slowly filling up the viewport. Another flash, and another salvo emanated from the ship; and Drayson sent them into a second dive designed to evade the barrage. "It seems, once again, that Governor Tarkin has elected violence over non-violence."

"But why?" Lynia asked, grabbing at her chair as Drayson finally leveled them out. "I thought Aach said the Emperor wanted us alive."

"He did, when we could be taken quietly." This last was Drayson again, white-knuckled at the helm of the _Hope_. "But now that we're out here in the open, with all the galaxy to see—"

"He wants to avoid a public trial," Lynia finished for him, nodding, "another chance for the Senator to make a declaration against the Empire."

"Exactly." On Drayon's scope a new signal started flashing. "We've got another problem," he announced, dividing his attention from the controls to risk a look. "TIE fighters, heading our way."

"It looks like a full squadron," Mon Mothma confirmed. "The Governor must want me worse than I thought." She half-glanced over her shoulder at Lynia. "Are you certain you wouldn't like to try my plan now?"

Lynia opened her mouth— "Here they come," Drayson cut her off, just as the ship started shuddering with the impact of multiple laser blasts against the dorsal shields. He banked hard to the right, trying to throw their pursuers off; but TIE fighters were far more nimble than a simple civilian space yacht, and their pilots stayed hot on the _Hope_ 's trail. "Any ideas?"

"Perhaps we should try _praying?_ " Mon Mothma suggested dryly, bringing up a damage report on her screen. It didn't look good. "You once told me the _Hope_ had the best shields on the market, Captain."

"She does," Drayson told her, sounding a little defensive. "But no shield can hold up forever against a pounding from an Imperial Star Destroyer, Senator. We're going to need to come up with an exit plan, before we get pulverized out here." ("Pulverized!" Deesix muttered pitifully.)

"The navicomputer still needs two minutes until we're clear of the planet's gravity well," Lynia reported; and for maybe the first time in her life, Mon Mothma wished she'd taken Aach's advice and had Drayson install some defensive weapons on this ship. She was rocked in her seat again as the _Hope_ shuddered from another hit; on her screen, several highlighted lines changed into red. "I'm not sure the ship can take much more of this!"

A new light on Drayson's screen started flashing. "What's that?" he demanded, unwilling this time to spare a look away from the controls.

"The sensor's picking up another group of fighters," Mon Mothma said, leaning over, "coming in around the _Devastator_."

"Not more Imperial fighters!" Deesix moaned.

"I don't think so," Mon Mothma frowned, studying the screen more closely, "they're coming in _past_ the _Devastator_ , out of hyperspace. TIE fighters don't have hyperspace capability, do they?"

"They're not TIEs," Lynia blurted, "they're X-wings. Look!"

She pointed. Out beyond the dark silhouette of the Star Destroyer there was a flicker of pseudomotion; and in perfect formation emerged a full squadron of Incom T-65B X-wing starfighters, wingtip lasers extended and primed and ready for trouble. Mon Mothma watched in fascination as the twelve little ships—they were X-wings, all right; she recognized their agile, angular form from Captain Dreis's holo-schematics at Bail's party, now a lifetime ago—slipped around the _Devasator_ and made a bee-line directly toward the _Hope…_ and, more importantly, the small cluster of TIE fighters currently swarming around it. All at once those wingtip lasers opened fire. Three of the TIEs were caught flat-footed, exploding into balls of dissipating energy before their pilots even knew what hit them; the rest scattered. "Attention, _Chandrila Hope_ ," the comm suddenly crackled, "this is X-wing Red Leader. Do you copy?"

"Captain Dreis!" Mon Mothma gasped with relief. "We are certainly glad to see you! What are you doing here?"

"Our… _mutual friend_ thought you might need some assistance," Dreis told her carefully. No need to mention Bail by name: even on a supposedly secure comm channel, you never knew who might be listening in. "It looks like he wasn't far off the mark. My R2 unit's picking up some damage to your ship. Can you still make the jump to lightspeed?"

Beside her, Drayson nodded. "Captain Drayson thinks so," Mon Mothma said into the comm. "The hyperdrive's cracked, but we should be able to make it to the safe-house." As if on cue, there came a beep from the station beside Lynia. "The navicomputer says we're clear of the gravity well," she told Dreis. "Can your friends clear us a path out of here?"

"No problem, Senator," Dreis told her, swinging his X-wing back around. "Red boys, form up. Attack pattern delta."

Around the _Hope_ ,the twelve starfighters arranged themselves in a defensive position. "What's the route, Red Leader?" Drayson asked.

"We're going straight through that Star Destroyer, _Hope_ ," Dreis said. "That outta catch them off guard."

"Eager to see if those snubfighters of yours really _can_ take on a capital ship?" Drayson asked, a little nervously.

Over the comm, Dreis laughed. "Not today, _Hope_. Maybe another time. Keep up if you can."

His ship suddenly burst forward, lasers firing at the dark bulk of the _Devastator_ in front of them. Drayson brought the _Hope_ in behind, trailing Dreis's slipstream and following as best he could as the X-wing skimmed low along the Star Destroyer's surface. There were great flashes from the turbolaser batteries scattered along the ship's lines, lancing out at the _Hope_ and its escort; more bursts of laser fire behind them as the remaining TIEs tried coming in above; but the X-wings wove easily through it all, evading the incoming blasts like a fine dance. For one, brief moment there was a bright flash, as one of the turbolasers finally connected with the front fighter's shields: but the X-wing sailed through, apparently undamaged. "That was a close one," Drayson muttered, before flipping on the comm. "Red Leader, are you all right?"

"Never better, _Hope_ ," Dreis's voice came back—it was hard to tell over the crackling comm signal, but to Mon Mothma's ears he almost sounded…excited? "A little cooked, but these things can really take a beating. Red Five, Red Six: take the lead."

On either side of the _Hope_ two of Dreis's X-wings slipped forward, wingtip lasers blasting away at the offending turbolaser battery. Then they were suddenly rising up, up towards the command superstructure that stuck out from the ship's aft like a great monolith. They flew so close, Mon Mothma was certain she saw, if for a brief moment, the tall, sallow-skinned figure of Governor Tarkin himself, standing at the bridge viewport—could even have sworn she spied a look of furious, impotent rage plastered on his face, as he watched the _Hope_ flit helplessly past—and then they were clear of the _Devastator_ , and it was only the black of deep space before them.

With a relieved sigh, Drayson reached over and yanked on the hyperdrive levers. The stars stretched into star-lines, and the _Chandrila Hope_ leaped into hyperspace, leaving Coruscant far behind. It would be years before Mon Mothma would return again.


End file.
